The Game Of Happy Families
by West27
Summary: Sequel to Baby Complex. With his mind now set on the next baby, Matthew decides Gilbert shouldn't stick around. And instead, a desperate Matthew settles with Iain, England's eldest brother who's convinced by Alfred to stay for their sake. Meanwhile, Arthur soon discovers he is also pregnant, but is Francis the father or Alfred? Contains MPreg, USUK, FrUKUS, FrUK, ScotCan & PruCan.
1. Prologue: Settling Back Down

**Prologue:**** Settling Back Down**

Sequel to 'Baby Complex'

**Date:  9th ****February, 2013 (February, part 1)**

* * *

Nearly a week passed since Canada had last seen the red-eyed nation of Prussia. No-more, he said, no-more he wanted anything to do with Gilbert... well, maybe for at least a few years. He didn't want to give the baby up, even for him. A child was a child to Matthew. Every time he had considered having it aborted he made himself re-think with a sharp slap to his head; had he dared the idea even once when he found out about Benjamin? No. Not at all. Gilbert hadn't allowed it. For Gilbert's sake, and to save himself of the guilt of snatching away the unborn's chance to exist, Matthew granted it it's life rather than choosing to exterminate it.

_**I may as well be in London…**_ He thought to himself with a sigh as he stared out of the window of Francis' penthouse out onto the streets below. The recent days had been rather warm in comparison to most so far in the year and so the snow had melted leaving only a grey slush on the pavements that was thick with mud and tarmac grit. The slight warmth had crossed the fine line in temperature that meant the difference between having a beautiful white snowfall that drifted effortlessly on the slightest breeze to rain that pelted the earth beneath it with such icy force that most fled from it.

Still, the Eiffel tower looked amazing; all aglow with it's many thousands of golden lightbulbs, lighting it like a iron beacon for the whole of the city to see. **_If only it could be this amazing during the day_**, Matthew would tell himself each time he saw it.

At the moment, the rain was torrential and fell like a storm of silvery needles. People scurried like a bunch of well-dressed rats over the Parisian streets, some wielding umbrellas, others without but all seeking better shelter against the elements. What they were doing in such a quiet area at this time of night was beyond the wavy-haired boy.

Matthew was almost concerned at one point that it would become so powerful that it might actually cause the window to crack… but it didn't. So he continued to watch with fascination.

His family had left him alone in the penthouse with Kumajiro and the cats, Moose and Francis' cat, Jerome, and of course, baby Benjamin. They preferred not to talk about the oncoming baby if they could possibly help it. It seemed as though Matthew could sense their discomfort for he did the same, although Matthew received the impression that his family wouldn't love the child. Even so, he gradually reformed back to his old ways; his old, passive-aggressive, sweet-natured ways.

Sort of.

He was very much silent. Rarely speaking a word, his family understood the little head nods and gestures that usually got him through the day. And if he did decide to open his lips it was most usually an incoherent whisper of jumbled French and English that not even Francis could properly decipher.

_"Getting words from him is like squeezing blood from a stone."_ Arthur had once remarked.

At this moment in time, Matthew had been delighted to be back in Paris. Francis had pulled out some very old, very dusty baby clothes from the cupboard up in his bedroom for Benjamin to use.

A little white nightshirt with a single red ribbon laced around the collar that was presented as a bow in the front.

Matthew had been hit with a wave of nostalgia when he was presented with the garment, for it had been one of his long ago and was rather surprised that Francis had kept it after all these years. That lead to Alfred wanting to know what Arthur had done with his nightshirt; he preferred not to say, for he knew he had thrown it away out of pure spite along with many other belongings after the Revolution.

Although the garment was nice, Matthew thought Benjamin needed more suitable and modern clothes, and it's sentimental value was too precious to risk damage now. All Francis could dig out was a collection of totally outdated clothes that were too big anyways, so the Frenchman had gone out with his wallet full.

Being Paris, he was spoilt for choice on where to go. And in the end he came back with not only a vast range of clothes but also some toys, a brand new cot with bedding and a selection of baby bottles, pacifiers and more. Then, because the remainder of Matthew's own possessions were still boxed up at Ludwig's house, Francis had treated him to a few new pairs of jeans, some shirts and a couple of lovely (and expensive) sweaters.

Out in the guest room in which Matthew was staying, Benjamin resided inside the cot. His little fever had long-since passed and the boy was back to his usual happy, giggling, needy self. Matthew had taken him the day before to the doctor's for another check-up as well as his first inoculations. The baby had disliked that greatly, writhing and struggling when the syringe pierced his little arm, ending in tears as the child couldn't understand why his Papa had not responded to his pleas and betrayed the trust that had grown from their many hours of bonding.

Nevertheless, he was in peace now. With nobody else around it was the perfect time to be put to bed without the risk of being disturbed. Matthew continued to watch the world go by outside. The members of his family said they would just stop off at the local bar for a quick drink. They'd be back in an hour they said, back by eight-thirty.

Well, where were they? Looking at the clock Matthew read that the time was now quarter to eleven.

Matthew had even prepared dinner. It wasn't much but he had prepared a large dish of ratatouille. A simple recipe that Francis called a 'Pauper's dish' but nonetheless they both found it delicious. And although Arthur wasn't particularly fond of French cuisine he found it slightly more edible knowing that Francis hadn't cooked it.

The meal had been placed in the oven at the lowest heat. There was no sense in letting a perfectly good meal go cold but whether or not the family would actually be sober enough to eat was the question the Canadian asked himself.

Matthew let out a little aspirated sigh, running a hand over his belly to give it a little rub. He couldn't wait much longer to eat; he'd made having small regular meals a bit of a habit since settling into this new pregnancy, telling himself it was the only way he'd manage to get enough nutrients. He knew at this rate he'd just pile on the pounds like Alfred on a burger-bender so he also made it a habit to go for long walks with Benjamin in his stroller along the quiet little cobblestone roads between the houses of the traditional Victorian-styled streets in which the penthouse building overlooked.

Minutes rolled by and soon Matthew was seated back by the window with a small bowl of the vegetable-potato meal. He shovelled a forkful of food into his mouth, smacking his lips loudly as he chewed.

He wasn't even half-way through his supper when he heard the door open with a sharp click-clacking-click of the lock. It swung open with an aged creak. Through it stumbled France, followed by England and America, all of which were laughing at some private joke.

And judging by the half-bottle of red wine that France was sloshing all over the laminate, Canada assumed that all three of them must've been fairly hammered to be getting along so happily. When Francis spotted Matthew staring back them with distempered eyes, he smiled sheepishly.

"_Mathieu_… 'ow is _mon Mathieu_…?" The Frenchman slurred, putting the bottle back to his lips.

"D'n't hog it'all, Frog." Arthur snatched it from him, sending another rosy splatter of liquid onto the rug.

The little Canadian felt his face grow heated, unimpressed. For a moment he forgot his unusual case of deep-seated muteness to give his family a sharp scolding.

"P-papa! Where were you? You promised to be back several hours ago…!"

"Mm? Oh… sorry, _petit_…" He sauntered over to Matthew, slinging an arm over his shoulders. "Papa was 'aving some fun."

"You all had me worried!" Matthew protested. He set his plate down on the coffee table and turned to face him. Up close he could see that Francis was quite thoroughly wet, his long blonde hair plastered to his cheeks that were practically luminous from drinking. "You're soaked!"

Francis chuckled warmly. He affectionately rubbed a cheek up against Matthew's own, scraping at his smooth flesh with his bristly beard. It was then Matthew could smell the potency of his breath. Matthew squeaked. He jerked his head away, pulling himself free of the elder's hold, scrambling forward onto his feet.

"P-papa! H-how much have you drunk?"

"Not much, dude!" Alfred answered, almost giggling as Arthur discarded the bottle onto the cream sofa. Arthur wound his arms around Alfred's waist and pulled him into a sloppy sort of hug. He was sniggering between hiccups, a band of scarlet stretching across the bridge of his nose.

Pushing his chin down along the back of Alfred's shoulder, he seemingly whispered something into the American's ear that made him grin wolfishly and glance slightly behind down below the Brit's belt. Alfred murmured something back, Arthur blushed. Matthew blinked. He opened his lips to say something only to be silenced again when Arthur broke into announcement.

"Alfr'd an' I ar' gonna go ta bed…" He hiccupped with a cackle. He took Alfred by the hand, stealing a quick kiss on the lips before giving him a tug towards the bedroom that they shared. They lingered at the door for a second longer before falling through into the room, giggling.

Francis watched them for a moment with his eyes glazed and unblinking with an obvious lustfulness. The Frenchman licked his lips, daring a rather dark smirk as he followed in after them. He was quite certain that he knew what the Brit-American duo were up to; paired with his filthy thoughts and what they'd just displayed was enough to stir him up.

"Mm… _Mathieu_, Papa's goin' to bed as well, I think…"

He reached across to place a slovenly placed kissed on Matthew's cheek before following the other two at a tentative pace, swaying occasionally until he reached the bedroom door which had been left ajar rather than the small spiral staircase in the corner of the room that lead to a balcony-like second floor where the Frenchman's bed resided. Of course he'd keep the most luxury space for himself, not that there was much privacy.

"P-Papa, wait…! That's not your room-" The door slammed shut, enough to make the door frame rattle. Matthew squeaked a little, turning to face the doorway to his own bedroom on the opposite end of the room, breath held. Such a noisy entrance on their behalf. Did they not realise that Benjamin was asleep in the next room?

The child was certainly not a light sleeper. One only had to slam a door or speak at a considerable level just to stir him and Matthew was very much aware of this.

Still, not a sound came from Matthew's bedroom. Ah well. It was about time for one of his nightly feedings anyways.

He finished off his own supper, taking the liberty to wash the dishes that were already out. Then after taking the rest of the ratatouille out from the oven, he left it with a cover of cling-film over the top, lest the cats get into it during the night.

With a glass of water, Matthew locked the front door and retired for the night to his baby.


	2. Recalling The Night Before

**Rated this fic 'M' just to be safe =w=**

* * *

**Chapter 1: ****Recalling The Night Before**

**Date: ****10th February, 2013 (February part 2)**

* * *

The first thing Arthur noticed when he woke up the following morning was the blistering headache that served as a just reminder of last night's binge.

Although the exact details after the second bottle of wine was drained were hazy, there was no mistake that it had been a hard night of drinking. He, Alfred and the Frog hadn't been the only ones there; they'd been out, celebrating Spain's birthday a bit earlier seeing as his boss had plans to bury him in work for the next month or so. Romano had come at Spain's whim but remained on the uneasy side in the presence of England and France; to reassure himself he always spewed a wave of hateful language their way whilst forcing Spain between him and them.

Arthur groaned. He hadn't felt this shitty since his birthday night back in '88. He'd gone through a reckless punk-stage back then, full of partying, anarchy, drinking and sex – what Iain had merely described as going through a 'Stage'. It had been an awkward time, now that he thought about it. And on that particular night he remembered waking up in his apartment with no shirt, dry vomit and blood staining his jeans and a six-string tattoo on his shoulder blade. Gradually, his behaviour toned back down as he resumed his gentleman-like ways whilst making himself promise never to do such a thing again.

The Brit scolded himself bitterly for breaking such a frugal promise.

Prussia had been invited, but he never showed. In fact, when France called him with the invite he hadn't even answered the phone. Only Germany who told him that he was 'out'. From Ludwig's tone Francis had immediately decided it was false. Even Antonio said nothing. So they just let it be and enjoyed themselves.

And then when they parted ways… bah, the memory was too fuzzy to recall.

Arthur rolled onto his side, eyes still firmly squeezed shut. His nose wrinkled slightly as it seemed to pick up on a warm, familiar musk of a certain American. He blindly pushed his way through the bed sheets, hungry for the warmth that Alfred's bare form would provide him with, like a living hot water bottle.

Alfred grunted when the Brit slipped beneath his arm, then letting his cheek fall against the flat of the American's chest he curled up.

It was rare to see Arthur voluntarily seek out comfort from another with such need. Recently he'd grown all the more closer to Alfred, but was still somewhat embarrassed to actually admit his love even after their numerous dates. This annoyed Alfred.

It was nice just lying there in the warmth. Arthur sighed happily and stretched his arm until it was draped comfortably at a diagonal over Alfred's abdomen, hugging it.

A blindingly white light shone down on them through the parting in the curtains, illuminating them whilst the rest of the room remained in shadows.

They lay like that for a few minutes, stewing in each other's warmth. England continued to contently breathe against America, small warm soundless breathes.

He was so close to conking out again for a good forty winks until he felt something solid against his lower back. Something unpleasantly cool against his cosy self.

With a grumble of protest the blonde twisted in America's weak hold, flicking his eyes open. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he came face to face with France. Wait, France?

The older French nation was smiling rather lewdly as he dreamt about God knows what. He seemed to be curled up with his knees drawn close to his body although judging by his constant twitching; England was pretty sure that any moment now he'd uncoil like a spring and slam another foot into him.

But more importantly, what the hell was the damned pervert doing in bed with them?

It was Arthur's turned to launch an attack; right into his abdomen he kneed him. Francis' eyes shot open. He let out a weak gasp, winded.

"_An…gle…terre_…?" He croaked. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, attempting to sit up.

"What the hell do you think you're doing here?"

"Hm?" Francis lazily cast Arthur a rather puzzled look.

"Don't give me that look! You're in bed with me and America!"

Francis arched an eyebrow. At this rather tasty bit of information he scooted a little closer and peered over the Brit. Sure enough, there was Alfred, fast asleep on Arthur's other side.

A sly grin grew across the eldest blonde's rugged features. Francis slipped an arm around Arthur's shoulder and leaned in.

"We 'ad quite the party last night, don't you think?"

"Don't remember… get off me!"

"Tsk, tsk,_ lapin_. It's not nice to 'it, you know. 'Ow about a kiss, hn?" The Frenchman dipped to roughly capture Arthur's lips in his own. Arthur was having none of this and simply palmed him in the face.

"Piss off, you insufferable swine."

Francis pushed out his upper lip in a faux pout. He narrowed his eyes oh-so-subtly when Alfred rolled onto his side so that he faced him, bubbling out gibberish between licking his lips.

As a word of warning Arthur delivered a final kick to Francis. Mussing his hair the frog knew all attempts to save were futile. So with a scornful sigh of defeat he began searching the room for his clothes. Just as Arthur began to snuggle back beneath the sheets, Francis left the room with only his boxer shorts and half-buttoned blouse on.

France had no idea what the time was. Early, he figured.

His memory of the night before wasn't any clearer than Arthur's; he'd absorbed so much wine into his bloodstream the previous evening that he had been cursed with a twisted memory and a dire headache.

He had every intention just to stumble up to his own bed on the platform floor across apartment. He just wanted to bury himself beneath the crisp, untouched sheets of his own bed where he could sleep the obnoxious hangover away.

He couldn't remember what had become of Lovino and Antonio… maybe after he regained consciousness in the evening he'd phone Spain's cell to check.

France perked suddenly when his nose caught the meaty aroma of bacon and sausage cooking, accompanied by the appropriate sounds of said-foods sizzling away in a frying pan.

Willing his dulled senses to wake up to take in more of the tasty smell, France drowsily scanned the rest of the apartment. He saw Benjamin propped on the floor by the foot of the sofa, staring quietly at the television set as it chattered back to him with a montage of colour and sound that the baby found most appealing. He had a thumb between his lips and his other arm clutched a second source of comfort in the absence of Matthew; the little stuffed yellow dog toy that France had bought him days before. And next to him sat Kumajiro who was too engrossed in the cartoon they were watching to notice or care.

Francis decided against disturbing Benjamin. Instead he took his investigation to the kitchen, following the delicious savoury-sweet scents that roamed the room.

And sure enough there he found Canada.

The young nation was humming a soft tune. He'd heard his Papa tromping across the laminate but proceeded to pretend to not notice. He'd also heard a brief exchange of words between him and England so took it upon himself to act like he had missed every word they spoke like the naïve and innocent little boy they thought he was. It was better that way, he thought. After all, he didn't want to get caught in the middle of anything.

"Mm. _Bonjour, petit_." France croaked, leaning forward to place a sweet kiss on Matthew's cheek.

"_Bonjour_, Papa."

"'Ow are you and _bébé_ this morning?"

"Which one?"

"Hm?" Matthew gestured to his stomach. It looked no different; no bump, no sign of life. It would be that way for another month or two now. But there was no doubt that there was something, someone growing there, within.

Francis gathered Matthew in his arms and gave him a hug, minding not to squeeze too hard.

"Both of them, then. 'Ow are they?"

"Fine. Kumashima's watching Ben." Francis chuckled. He released Matthew when the boy wriggled a little and stepped to his side to admire the food that he was preparing.

"You're so trusting to let a little bear look after such a young baby, _Mathieu_. What if 'e gets 'urt?"

"The worst thing that's going to happen, is that Kumakara is going to get hungry. Then he'll probably just come out here to beg or raid the pantry. To be honest I'm more concerned for Kuma."

"Only if you are sure, petit… then I trust your judgement."

**_Can't be too certain though…_** He thought but didn't say aloud.

"_Petit_, 'ow about you go and join Benjamin, _oui_? You 'ave been working so 'ard around the 'ouse lately… let Papa cook." Matthew thanked him, secretly glad for a rest, and scurried over to the baby and bear.

* * *

"Mm… I'm hungry."

"Then let's get up. I'll pop some crumpets in the toaster and we can have some tea." Alfred sniffed the air hungrily. He turned back to Arthur, pouty-faced.

"But I think France is cooking bacon out there... I bet its the maple-kind too." He reluctantly peeled back the duvet and left the cocoon warmth of the bed and his partner behind. Crawling along the floor the American began throwing on whatever clothes he could find that were his – or at least fit him.

He'd been quite happy, sleeping. More than happy. But his sleep had been roused at the aching call of nature. He worked quickly, fearing that he might have some sort of accident otherwise.

"Fine. Neglect my cooking, why don't you. There's nothing wrong with a toasted crumpet with a nice bit of butter. I bought them especially before we left London, remember? You said you'd try them."

"Yeah, I know… thank God they're bought." Arthur armed himself with a pillow.

"What's that supposed to mean? God, you're such an ungrateful brat!"

"Hey, calm down… you can still make 'em though if you want to," He flashed Arthur a sweet sort of smile. "…And… I guess I'll try some. 'Kay?"

Arthur watched bitterly from the corner of his eye. He nodded anyways, deciding it was going to be the best response he was going to get out of Alfred for the time being. And to be quite frank it was too early to be arguing. Once he had his cup of morning tea, he might try again.

By the time Arthur had gotten dressed, Alfred had made a dive for the bathroom meaning he had to go without his morning bath. A little annoyed but tolerant of this routine behaviour, the Brit made his way to the kitchen appliances. After taking two more drink orders, he put the kettle on and dropped one tea-bag into his mug, poured a glass of milk for Matthew and set about spooning instant coffee granules into two more cups for the others.

When the water finished boiling and was poured into each mug, he smiled with satisfaction with his efforts. He wasn't hugely familiar on the concept of making the bitter drink but he at least knew the basics and how the Frog and Idiot liked theirs; black, one sugar for France. Milky, three sugars for America.

Suddenly feeling strong arms encircle his waist, Arthur initially thought it was Francis trying to flirt with him again, so he leant back slightly whilst readying to lash with his tongue. He knew that ever since they'd broken up several years ago, ever since Alfred and Arthur had started dating, the older blonde had kept a passive-aggressive demeanour towards the successor of Arthur's love. Even while they were dating, Francis had had a wretching feeling that Arthur's interest in him had swayed. During those final months together tension had heightened to its absolute peak. Fights about the pettiest things grew serious but rarely physical - never Francis had tried to harm in any such way although out of blinding frustration Arthur had kicked and uselessly slapped. Then as Francis had become possessive and a little paranoid world meetings would often witness the dragging of a kicking, screeching Arthur. Arthur couldn't take the jealously any longer and before Christmas the relationship was dissolved. Practically over night Francis had come to find out that he'd already been replaced.

"Four sugars~" Alfred sung into his ear.

"Like you need the extra calories."


	3. Sickly Business

**Chapter 2:**** Sickly Business**

**Date:**** 10th February, 2013 (February part 3)**

* * *

Breakfast was initially eaten in near silence. Matthew, as tired as he was, was neglecting his own stomach's growls in order to convince a moaning to Benjamin feed. The baby boy rejected the bottle each time, keeping it at bay with tiny pudgy hands. With a new baby on the way Matthew had said that he was determined to wean Benjamin completely onto formula and solids before the nine months were up. He figured that he wouldn't produce enough milk for both children, and by the time the second baby arrived Benjamin would nearly be a year old and capable of handling more substantial foodstuffs anyways.

Finally, Benjamin had had enough. And when he had enough, he had a tendency to screech and bawl his little eyes out like nobody's business.

In his defeat Matthew withdrew the bottle rather than attempting to push it between his son's tiny pale lips, and set it aside on the table.

"Geez, he's so loud!" Alfred struggled over the little one's volume. Arthur's fist connected with his shoulder. The American yelped, taken by surprise. He sat rubbing where he'd been punched. It only stung a little, and it probably wouldn't bruise, but it didn't hurt to exaggerate just for a little sympathy – not that he'd get any at this rate.

"Hey, that hurt… what gives?"

"Idiot; look!" With his head he gestured towards Matthew. His eyes were hooded, head tilted forward and his colour a little off. This didn't go by unnoticed by Francis, who had also glanced over. Arthur tutted softly and spoke low.

"He's knackered, poor sod. I bet you my hat he's been waking up every hour to tend to the child every night for a good few weeks."

Francis put down his mug of coffee and got up. Matthew really was looking quite 'out of it'. The Frenchman brought the back of his hand to Matthew's forehead. Ah. Just as he expected: the poor boy was feeling a little warm.

Francis rubbed Matthew's back. The young blonde seemed almost completely unaware of the child's malicious cries as they deafened the other tenants in the room. No. He just sat there with a vacant stare until Francis put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a small squeeze.

"_Petit_, let Papa take the _bébé_." Obediently, Matthew quietly handed him over. The tiny child seemed to quieten somewhat. His cries became hiccups and gurgles as he peered up at the old nation with puffy violet eyes. Then, the tears returned but the volume greatly reduced. Francis formed a cradle with one arm, rocking him whilst he picked the bottle of formula up with the free hand.

"I'll put 'im back to bed." Francis explained at an interval allowing him to speak without needing to shout over the baby. Arthur and Alfred nodded, the latter appreciating this, and when they and Matthew were the only ones left at the table Arthur made his way over to Matthew's side. Like Francis had done before, he pressed a hand against his warm, sickly white skin.

"Oh lad, what've you gotten yourself sick with? Not the flu I hope?"

"It's nothing, eh. Threw up this morning, now I feel… all nauseous." Arthur wrinkled his nose, hoping that it was his morning sickness setting in early rather than a bug.

"We can't be certain that it's 'nothing' lad," He remained silent for a few seconds become giving him an encouraging pat on the shoulder. "Come on. Let's get you something to drink and then you can have a kip on the settee, alright?"

Matthew was as thoughtless as a puppet. When Arthur took him by the hand to lead him to the sofa, he didn't fight it. He didn't falter. He just complied without question. Arthur hissed orders to Alfred, instructing him to get a glass of cold water, to retrieve the blanket and pillow from Francis' bed (telling him to make sure they were clean first) and then to try and locate a thermometer.

It only took a couple of minutes before everything was gathered, and by that time all had gone silent on Francis' end which lead the others to conclude that he'd finally managed to put the child to rest.

Arthur made sure Matthew was comfortable on the couch, bundling him in the lightweight duvet and pillows. Alfred got him to drink down a bit of the water, certain that something so plain wouldn't upset his stomach or trigger any vomiting if he did happen to have a bit of a cold. But seeing him in this condition concerned the Brit.

"The little one is fast asleep." Francis announced softly, waving the empty baby bottle as he reappeared. He dropped the bottle off at the sink, giving it a quick rinse before joining the others by the sofa. "'Ow is he?"

Alfred took the thermometer from between his brother lips and read aloud.

"His temperature's a little above normal… 99.1 degrees…"

"So it's only a little fever _petit_ 'as?" Arthur went to refill the glass.

"Not high enough to be a fever, I don't think. I've heard it's normal for a pregnant woman's core body temperature to rise slightly. But just in case, we should probably regulate him anyway. We can't take any chances whilst he's the way he is."

Matthew glanced up through blonde eyelashes, cheeks dusted lightly with warmth. He was still rather drowsy and wasn't entirely sure why he'd even left the bed this morning. Francis would have most certainly made breakfast if he hadn't.

Suddenly, another dizzy spell made Matthew's head whirl into a black haze that wavered in and out. A low moan escaped his lips as he suddenly moved minutely to hang himself off of the edge of the sofa.

Then came the awful sound of the poor Canadian retching, followed by a foul, runny substance being expelled from his mouth and onto the laminate, narrowly missing his brother's foot.

"Aw, gross!" Alfred exclaimed, somewhere half-way between excitement and squeak of surprise.

Matthew gagged as the remnants of the thick bile failed to pass up through his throat and mouth. Arthur patted him sharply on the back to help him along.

"Alright lad, get it all out of your system… there's a good boy."

"Mm s'rry…" The Canadian sniffled. He looked quietly down with distaste at the puddle of what had been the glass of water he'd just drunk only minutes ago. His throat and mouth throbbed from the reflex, burning painfully with a horrid taste that felt as though it would linger for hours to come.

"Don't apologise, luv. It's alright, we understand what you're going through… oh, come now, don't cry."

"…S'rry…"

* * *

So it was decided that Matthew would be placed in Francis' bed for the time being. Carried up to his Papa's little patch of private living space, bundled in the duvet with a sick bucket sat beside the bed, they tried to keep him as relaxed and as cool as possible.

Matthew settled down between the cool, crisp bed sheets. The other day they had been washed with a new flowery detergent that smelt richly of roses – a comforting smell that reminded Matt of Francis and everything that he stood for.

So he wasn't surprised when he woke up an hour past noon. And it was no surprise when he was forced to grip his belly as it spoke to him, growling like some mangy mutt. Not unlike the very beast it imitated, it was hankering for food.

Then he remembered: he hadn't eaten breakfast this morning, and even if he had, it wouldn't have stayed inside him for long anyways.

Groggy, Canada kicked back the covers and stumbled to his feet. Downstairs he heard the TV chattering softly – how considerate of his family.

He descended with a hand automatically attached to his belly, patting and rubbing it in a way he found most comfy.

No-one seemed to notice him as he passed behind the back of the sofa, for they all seemed distracted by the television, save for Arthur whom was leafing through the morning's newspaper (although it was clear that he wasn't actually reading it; all the text was French).

Alfred was sat between the elder two nations. His hands were tightened into fists that rested upon his knees in anticipation. In fact, Matthew was certain that he was shaking just a bit too.

The Frenchman, on the other hand, only feigned interest in the low-budget black-and-white cowboy movie. Benjamin was sat in his lap, occasionally glancing at the screen before turning his attention back to the stuffed dog he clutched.

Even now, Matthew was as transparent as a ghost. For once he was grateful. He had no desire to be a burden to his brother or Papa or Arthur, and given half the chance he would go home – if he had a home to go back to. He did feel guilty for being so troublesome.

So, he accepted his current state rather half-heartedly and went on to gathering some bits and pieces from the kitchen to eat – a couple rounds of honey-slathered sandwiches, an apple and orange from the fruit bowl and a left-over sweet slice which he salvaged from the fridge. Before he came downstairs he had noticed that someone had left him a fresh pint of water up on the bedside table so he needn't get a drink.

With his arms full of the soon-to-be feast (he had already assumed that he'd missed lunch although he saw no dishes in-wait to be washed), he retreated back upstairs to eat. He stopped just before ascending the staircase again, offering a small grateful smile to his unaware family. Then, he scurried off.


	4. Reunion With Vati

**Chapter 3:**** Reunion With Vati**

**Date: ****17th March, 2013 (March part 1)**

* * *

"Are you sure you don't want to wait with Benjamin in the lounge?"

"I'm fine." Canada said for the hundredth time as he, England, America and France made their way down the corridor towards the conference room. In his arms the blonde Canadian carried his three month old son and over one shoulder he had a bag full of baby toys, formula bottles and other basic necessities for the child. The meeting would be a long and tedious one so the child would need something to entertain him whilst he waited.

Two months pregnant and just experiencing the full weight of his mood swings, Matthew was adamant to allow his family to leave him behind during today's world meeting. Ever since Berwald had retrieved him from Moscow, Matthew's boss had been made aware of his continued existence despite what he'd been told by his agents and even with the knowledge that he had a child, he still expected him to attend to his Nation duties.

"Gilbert said he'd look after Ben. And the least I can do is let them spend some time together at least once in a while."

"Only if you say so, _petit_." They finally stopped at a door. The bronze plaque on the door looked polished and shiny, Matthew able to look himself in the eyes - or at least the eyes of his coppery counterpart. Black letters were etched onto the plaque which read 'Waiting Room'.

Opening it, the four Nations stepped inside. It was a small room decored simply with a soft felt armchair and a sofa, a chair and coffee table set and with some basic kitchen appliances for the making of tea or coffee. The carpet was a plain beige-cream and a rather plain green rug was set in the middle of the room. Sat on this particular green rug there was two figures; one very small and dressed in a sailor suit, the other obviously bigger with stark-white hair and astonishingly red eyes. Both were hunched over holding cards in their hands. The little one suddenly pointed a finger at his opponent.

"You cheated!"

"I did not!"

"Yes you did! I can see the cards in your sleeve!" In his somewhat shameful defeat, Gilbert withdrew said-cards from their hiding place and discarded them onto the pile that sat between himself and Peter. He cursed the young boy-Nation in his mother-tongue as Peter leaned forward to claim the small pile of pocket-change as his.

"I'm sure Sweden wouldn't approve of you teaching the lad to gamble, Prussia," He eyed Peter's collection of copper coins then added snidely: "Especially with such high stakes."

Both the micro-Nation and ex-Nation looked over towards the door in time to see England fast approaching. Canada followed at his heels with Benjamin, France and America trailing behind.

"I see you're already babysitting for Sweden and Finland." England said, glaring as his kid brother stuck out his tongue and had the cheek to call him 'Jerk-England'. Arthur would never say it to Berwald's face, but to his opinion Peter was a complete and utter brat, and one that the Swede needed to swap his spoiling methods of child-rearing for proper discipline. That would sort him out, no doubt.

Matthew felt awkward just standing there, a baby in one arm and an over-stuffed diaper bag hooked over the other.

Then Gilbert jumped to his feet. When was the last time he'd seen either of them…? From his recollection, the beginning of the previous month. Back when he'd lost his temper upon discovering about the new pregnancy which ended with Matthew even more upset than he had already been and an argument between himself and his ex's family. He daren't think about his own behaviour; those moments were blanked into nothingness to save himself the guilt of remembering any of that.

Before he knew what he was doing the albino pulled him into a hug, minding not to crush their baby or Matthew's stomach his meaningful display of affection.

"You never answer _mein_ calls."

"I…I'm sorry, Gil… I-I just…"

"I miss you." The Prussian swooped in to steal a kiss. Matthew pulled his head away. He wriggled out of Gil's loose grip, gently placing Benjamin into his place, into his arms. He quickly took off the diaper bag and plopped it by Gilbert's feet.

"H-his bottles and formula are in there… a-and he's got some f-fresh diapers if he needs changing… a-and some blankets if he gets cold… some toys if he gets bored…" Matthew dipped his head to plant a kiss atop the baby's head before he allowed Francis to gently guide him from the room with Alfred leading them in procession.

Arthur, who had just been giving his brother a 'talking to' about his in-proper behaviour ("What will your father say when he hears that you've been playing Poker?") and his childish name-calling ("If I were Sweden and I heard such disrespecting language coming from my child's lips, I'd have your mouth washed out with soap!") whilst contradicting Berwald's child-rearing techniques, approached Gilbert. He waved the deck of cards he'd taken off of Peter – he would not have him competing in anymore card-play – and locked eyes with the albino.

"We'll probably be taking a break at noon for lunch. We'll come down to see how you're getting on. See you later, then." Gilbert bounced Benjamin in his arms.

"_Ja… ja_, see you later."

* * *

As soon as the door to the lounge shut with a satisfying 'click', Gilbert picked the diaper bag up and walked over towards the armchair. Peter had already booted his laptop up and was playing games with his earphones on, so Gil sided with leaving him to his own devices for now at least.

Gilbert wrapped Benjamin in the blanket he'd found in the bag, then fished out the stuffed dog and gave it to him. Comfortable, warm and happy, Benjamin fell back against the back of the chair with the plush dog with a giggle.

Gilbert began to prepare a bottle of the formula, making use of his provided appliances. If he was honest he hadn't the foggiest of clues on how to prepare the stuff so he was forced to read from the tub which held the powdered white stuff.

First he discovered a slip of paper amongst the bottles. On it Matthew had scrawled some basic instructions, including how to sterilise the bottles and teats before and after use. So whilst they sat in the sink of hot water he began to try and figure out for himself how to do the meal itself.

* * *

"Kesesese! Can your awesome Vati make formula or what?" It had taken many attempts but soon Gilbert was sitting back in the plush armchair, holding a bottle of warmed formula to his tiny son's mouth.

Benjamin's opinion on formula was still no different. He moaned in protest, writhing like a snake caught in barbed wire. Peter had given up on his laptop shortly after it decided to crash half-way through one of his video games. Instead he had crashed out on the sofa, head on a cushion and a thumb childishly placed in his mouth as he dozed peacefully.

Gilbert frowned subtly.

"C'mon, Benny… at least try it!" He pushed the teat to the baby's lips but Benjamin simply rejected it with a swipe of his pudgy little hand.

"Dammit, what's wrong? You're not sick, are you?" The baby uttered his usual gibberish in response. Of course he wouldn't get a proper answer. The dear little thing probably couldn't understand a word that was being said anyways, let alone respond in a coherent manner.

Gilbert set the bottle aside. One arm cradled the baby's head whilst the other comfortably held him close to his chest in a hug.

Benjamin cooed cutely against the material of the ex-Nation's dress shirt, rubbing his cheek with the back of his hand. Gilbert grinned. He shuffled his hold a bit until he had Benjamin fully supported by a single arm. The other, now free, moved to the baby's face. He tweaked his teeny nose between a forefinger and thumb but perhaps doing it a tad too roughly as the child's violet eyes began to well-up.

"Ah, _scheiße_, don't cry! _Bitte heul nicht_!" The tears didn't let up as the child shamelessly allowed his face to quite literally flood.

_**Gott sei Dank he's not screaming...**_ Gilbert thought, glacing over at the undisturbed form of Peter as he rubbed the baby's nose apologetically. The tears just came heavily with the occasional whimper or hiccup between a long chorus of broken moans. Gilbert held him close until the little one's head was balled up beneath his Vati's chin. The only thing Gilbert could think to do was whisper sweet soothing words into his ear with hopes that it would solve it.

* * *

The conference room was filled with heavy silence, save for one Nation. The Nations gave their verbal presentations accordingly to the strict no-longer-than-eight-minutes rule pressed and moderated by Germany himself.

He watched from his place at the head of the table, whilst Finland spoke, looking between a smug-looking Russia and a fearful Canada. America and France sat on either side of him, England sat in the other chair next to the American. They each seemed to take it in turns exchanging icy glances at the large pale country. Cold, accusing eyes that, if looks could kill, would have Russia turning painfully in his grave. Next to England there was an unfamiliar-looking man, with spritely red hair so messy and unkept that one might wonder if it had ever been brushed. He wore a royal blue uniform embodied with a white cross, with matching gloves and a pair of heavy black boots. He seemed to be paying no mind to what was going on.

The news had reached Ludwig shortly after he and Feliciano arrived home from Rome. Then from there it seemed as though the news of both Matthew's reappearance and his pregnancy had gotten around.

Ludwig felt as though he could cut the tension that lingered with a knife. He simply hoped that another fight would not break out. But so far, so good.

"Papa, maybe I should just go and check on Benjamin, eh. Just a quick check." Matthew leaned over and whispered.

"_Non, petit_. 'Ave a little faith in 'im."

"B-but what if doesn't know what to do if Ben starts to cry? O-or what to do if he won't feed?" Francis reached below the table, searching out Matthew's hand with his own and giving it a squeeze.

"It will be fine, _petit_. Gilbert use to look after you when you were small. Do you remember?"

"N-no…! Of course not!" Actually, Matthew did.

Francis use to gingerly allow Antonio and Gilbert to visit when he was still very small; merely anything bigger or mentally capable than a human toddler. Gingerly in the fact that he didn't want either of his best friends to get any ideas of apprehending and taking his little colony away, like Arthur had done not long after.

Of course Francis' friends had their quirks that made them useful to have around; Antonio loved children and enjoyed being around them whilst Gilbert just loved small, cute things. So when he saw the blonde chibi country wandering around Francis' home in his little white nightshirt with wide, staring amethyst eyes, how could he resist not scooping up and hugging him so tightly that he very nearly cried.

But that was a long time ago. Since then Matthew's mind had been filled with the hardships of war and previously his everyday battle to be recognised. The memories of when he use to willingly curl up in the albino's pale arms had grown rather hazy and patchy… but they were still there. And every now and again he would hear or see or smell something that would trigger the memories to rise above the rest to the surface.

"We're very nearly breaking for lunch, _Mathieu_. You can wait until then,_ oui_?"


	5. A Run-in with Russia

**Chapter 4:**** A Run-in with Russia**

**Date:****17th March, 2013 (March part 2)**

* * *

A pair of lucid jade eyes coolly wandered over the other seated Nations, scanning over the various faces in a half-hearted attempt to decipher their thoughts. It was clear to Iain that tension was as high as a kite at this moment in time. It was actually rather entertaining in a way, for many of them had a look of either discomfort or a look of pure hatred (save for a rather content-looking Ivan), but he was to be a good boy today and would cause no more damage if he could help it.

He had plans to split and become totally independent from his little brother meaning that he'd have to attend meetings. So he decided to take up Arthur's offer to join them. If he ruined this chance, than that was it.

It all seemed in good nature for Arthur to allow his older brother to accompany him. It at least meant he would only need to copy extra notes for Wales and the Irelands. In fact, for this meeting in Paris Arthur had invited Iain to stay with them in Francis' penthouse.

Arthur took a sip of water from his cup.

He had other reasons to bring Scotland along. He had taken note of Iain's – even if he thought it subtle – change of nature. He seemed a little more considerate, daresay sweeter. But he was still the same old drunk. Arthur had decided that at their last meet-up at the pub.

But Iain was also a naturally protective brother. If someone was going to beat the living daylights out of any of his family then it would be done at his own hands, but if anyone else openly attacked they would have the Scotsman to answer to.

So with this in mind he had hopes that Matthew would be reasonably safe presuming Iain agreed to stay under the same roof even if only for a bit.

Arthur took another sip and this time he turned his head slightly to watch his brother from the corner of his eye. The Scotsman's boot-cladden feet were up on the table top with his hands resting over his midsection. To let him know about Matthew had been a good idea; he knew the Scot had a soft spot for the little maple-lover.

Iain suddenly looked up across the table. His rugged facial features twisted into something bitter, and as Arthur cared to follow his gaze, he realised what.

Ivan was smiling. It was a jolly sort of smile but with a distinct devious charm to it. And it was directed at Matthew.

Usually at meetings Matthew would keep Kumajiro tightly hugged against his chest meaning that at any moment of shyness he could immediately bury his nose into the cub's soft fur He was personal favourite source of comfort and warmth when they were out. And best of all the bear would never protest even when Matthew squeezed his belly too tightly or breathed cold air against his skin. In the worst case scenario Kuma would question Matthew's identity and nibble his master's nose.

Without him, Matthew had described that he'd felt rather bare. And then he had to explain to Alfred that no pun was intended.

Leaning to the side Arthur jabbed Alfred in the ribs with an elbow.

"Keep an eye on him." He hissed, barely above a whisper. Alfred nodded, apparently already aware.

"Yeah, I see him. I see him."

Alfred secretly reached beneath the table and sought out his younger's hand. Once he had it, warm and larger wrapped around smaller and paler, he gave it a long firm squeeze. Matthew tensed up a little at his brother's touch before realising. He broke his hypnotic stare from Ivan and tilted his head. Alfred was not looking at him but rather he was staring past him to watch Francis. He didn't even spare Ivan a single look.

Francis was now the last to give his presentation before the lunch break so he purposely spoke quickly. Francis had no desire to drag it out much longer, simply for the sake of his little Mathieu whom he knew was anxious to spend the hour-long break with his baby boy.

* * *

At long last Germany concluded the meeting with a firm reminder that they would resume at one o'clock sharp and that nobody had an excuse to be late. Then they were dismissed.

Matthew suddenly hurried from the room, partly waddling like a duck. He was gone before either of his family actually realised he was gone so as oblivious as they were, Alfred, Arthur and Francis began to quietly discuss certain things. Private things. But nobody noticed when the scarf-wearing man they'd scorned throughout the whole conference slipped from the room. Nobody except Iain.

Matthew would've loved to have gone straight to his son. He couldn't wait to cuddle with him on the armchair or spend some quality bonding time with him as though he were the only person in the world that mattered to him. But first he was certain that if he didn't get to the bathroom then his bladder would explode!

So after a quick trip to relieve himself he resumed wandering the corridors, rather clueless at that. He believed that pregnancy was both an irksome, tiresome time but also a rather joyous one that had already brought him much pleasure – how else would he ever get to experience the thrilling ups and downs of parenthood?

And apart from his frequent trips to the bathroom he had to expect more morning sickness and nausea, increased appetite (when he thought about it, he'd been rather veracious the time before) and those damned mood swings. He decided it was nothing compared to the end result. Actually, he was looking forward to it. Labour, not so much.

Some time passed. Matthew let out a low whimper of frustration and stopped abruptly in the middle of the hallway. He was certain he'd gone the wrong way; there was no sign of neither the conference room nor the lounge anywhere!

He went to turn a corner at the end of the corridor, still mulling over certain thoughts with a hand smoothing his belly when he walked headlong into something rather solid with a soft grunt. For a split second Matthew wondered if he had miscalculated somehow and walked into a wall. As his violet eyes opened, small lights popped in front of his vision. It took a moment to realise that it was a man he'd walked into.

"R-Ru-Russia! I'm sorry, I-I didn't s-see you!" The big Russian man clasped his former consort firmly by the shoulders with an unreadable smile upon his face. Matthew quickly found that his breathing had turned ragged and without much rhythm.

"_Matvey_~ how nice to see you again. Did you miss me? I missed you. It's been so lonely at night without you, _moya lyubov_." He dug in his fingertips to keep a better hold. Matthew nodded in hesitance, before a sinking feeling hit the pit of his stomach. "Estonia was naughty to invite that idiot Sweden over when I wasn't home, wasn't he? I was so worried when you and baby weren't home that I had to punish Estonia."

Matthew swallowed thickly. From experience he knew a punishment from Ivan was never lightly done. Inwardly he prayed that Eduard was alright although he was aware that it might be too late.

The Canadian let out a sudden yelp as he felt himself suddenly get turned on the spot so that his back was to his captor. A long soft whimper escaped Matthew's lips as he stood stiffly with his chin pinned tightly against his chest and his arms stuck against his sides. Ivan was chuckling, cheerfully with no obvious sign of malicious intent. He seemed genuinely pleased with himself.

"You're expecting another baby. How exciting for you, _da_?" Large gloved hands slipped under the wavy-haired blonde's coat and shirt until leather contacted warm skin, seeking out the small bump which concealed the unborn. Gently, oh ever so gently, Ivan rubbed his belly with circular motions.

"W-who told you…?" He didn't try to hide it. Russia would find out sooner or later, he figured.

"My little Estonia. Finland told him. And that Prussia has nothing to do with it. Does Prussia not love _Matvey_ anymore?" The Canadian didn't think much about how Finland had found out but instead tried to answer the question posed.

Matthew really wanted to say Gilbert did, and he wanted to say that they'd be getting back together again sometime. On the other hand the whole idea just seemed somehow unrealistic. The phone-calls were an indicator though.

After arriving in Paris from Stockholm he had started to receive a steady flow of phone-calls from the crude albino, each after the other. Mostly begging, asking forgiveness. But Matthew had still been in a sour state and had hung up before more than a few sentences were strung together. Then the calls were ignored altogether.

"W-we broke up… that's all."

"But _Matvey_ can't raise baby on his own. Baby needs a mama and a papa."

"I h-have my papa and Arthur… a-and my brother. T-they've been h-helping me with Ben-"

"How is baby Benjamin? He'll have little brother or sister soon. Surely your hands will be full with two little ones?"

Uttering another whimper Matthew shuffled uncomfortably as Ivan drew little patterns around his naval with a single finger.

"Come back to Moscow. You're one with Mother Russia, _da_? Babies can learn Russian; Matvey can learn Russian. We can be big happy family." Matthew glanced uneasily over his shoulder up at the big Nation who beamed back with a sunny smile. He brought up the opposite hand and began to thread it through Matthew's sandy locks, entangling his fingers, twirling and knotting them amongst the bunches of hair. The same way he had many nights in a row not so long ago. But why did it seem shorter than when they last met?

"You've cut your hair? It makes you look a little bit more like America... hmm… I don't like it."

"I-I-I-"

"I think that's enough harassment comin' from ye, Russia." Came a gruff, husky voice in front. Both Nations snapped their gaze towards the offender of their one-on-one time. Iain was standing a mere ten feet from where they stood, entwined uncomfortably (at least in Matt's opinion). He had his arms crossed and grassy eyes narrowed into slits that seemed to burn as fiercly as his hair. A crooked smile grew across the old nation's handsome features. But then when his gaze fell upon Canada's – the vulnerable one here by obvious circumstances – he saw the look of sheer fright in his eyes. A look that simply said 'save me'. And although he had never seen that look on this particular youngster before, it wasn't something new to him.

Iain advanced towards them.

"Clear off, Russia. Leave thee wee lad alone now, else things ar' goin' ter get nasty." Ivan pulled Matthew closer as the Scot stopped a few feet away. He curled his lip into an ugly frown which replaced the previous smiles that he had donned.

"It is none of your business. _Matvey_ and I were having a private conversation. I believe it's rude to just interrupt those sorts of things."

"It sounded pretty one-sided, if yer ask me."

"Haha. I don't think anyone did. "

But Ivan reluctantly released his hold on his 'beloved' anyways, allowing him to scurry behind the tall red-head. Ivan parted from them with a last friendly smile. The next meeting he could try again. He could try winning the Canadian back and if all else failed, he still had the option of kidnapping. Yes. That would do nicely… but he had a sneaking suspicion that his love's family would be ready for such actions.

He took his leave, disappearing back around the corner, humming cheerfully. Neither Matthew nor Iain spoke until the tunes of the baby-faced Russian died out of earshot.

At once Matthew was firmly grasped and scolded. He let out a loud yelp as the Scotsman shook him roughly with a spoken sneer, a subtle stench of smoke lacing every breath.

"Ar' yer stupid in thee head, boy? I should box yer ears fer being such a prat!"

"I-I-I'm s-sorry u-uncle Scotland…!" He squeaked, hiding his face behind his hands to block the cascading tears. The Scot glared at the boy. The use of the name 'Uncle Scotland' normally would've melted his heart. It was something Matthew had called him once upon a time as a colony and even today he still used it when he wanted to be cute. Iain bit his lip. He couldn't let himself go soft on the boy – not when he was trying to scold him.

"Ye want ter end up back at his, beaten an' treated like a piece of worthless shit again?"

Matthew shook his head quickly.

"N-no…"

"What've has ye dad told ye?"

"T-to keep away from him…"

"An'….?"

"N-not to speak to h-him?"

"An'…?"

"N-not to w-wander off on my own…?" Iain, feeling as though he'd been hard enough, pulled him into a gruff hug with a nod of his head.

"Aye, now ye get the idea. What exactly did ye think ye were doing, eh? Ye ran off so suddenly. "

"I-I needed the bathroom."

"Then next time let one of us know, ye silly bairn. Ye had me worried for a minute there."

Matthew pushed his nose into the crook of Iain's neck, trying to hide his face out of sight by burying it in amongst the elder Nation's uniform. It was out of pity that Iain accepted this need to hide himself. He worked a hand up and now the shorter blonde's back, massaging deep circles between his shoulder blades, rocking slowly back and forth until he heard the sobbing subside. As much as he loved the boy he couldn't help but think about how this whole ordeal had induced him into such a cry-baby.

"I-I'm sorry…"

"Don't apologise, lad. Forget it. I want ye ter use ye common sense next time ye see that Ruskie-bastard, understand that."

They were the only ones standing in that corridor for what seemed to be the longest time. Scotland sneaked a look at his wrist-watch, the time now telling him that they had approximately thirty-seven minutes left of lunch.

Sighing softly he knew it was about time the little comfort session came to an end. He brought his hand to Canada's back for the final time and patted it firmly.

"Alright, pett, let's get a move on. I fancy me-self a bacon-butty!" He pulled the boy away as he broke into wheezy laughter and a gleam came into his jade-green eyes, the laughter contorting his fine bristly features into a open-mouthed grin. Matthew managed to return the smile with his own, although somewhat meeker and sweeter.

Gloved hand took bare as the two, led by the Scot, made their way back down the corridor to their destination at the lounge.


	6. It's a Deal

**Chapter 5:**** 'It's a Deal.'**

**Date:****17th March, 2013 (March part 3)**

* * *

"He's alright though?"

"Aye. No harm done." Scotland took a bite of the buttery bacon sandwich on his plate, smacking his lips noisily as meaty juices dribbled over his pin-prick stubble. He chewed only a few times before greedily taking a second bite allowing England to see the inside of his meat-and-bread crammed craw, earning a look of complete and utter disgust.

Iain took a swig of coffee from a mug so cracked and so stained that nobody else would use it. He offered his brother a this-time foodless grin. Arthur said nothing. He picked at his own sandwich, clearly disinterested.

Iain munched the last of his lunch. He wiped his greasy mouth with his sleeve, rendering it no longer immaculate.

"What's wrong with ye? Not hungry?" Arthur slowly shook his head.

"No, it's not that. I just don't fancy eating bacon at the moment."

"That dun sound like ye…" The Scot leaned forward across the table, planting a hand onto Arthur's forehead. "Aye, ye lookin' a might bit peaky."

Since arriving in the lounge for the last part of the lunch break, Iain had fished out a packet of bacon and a tub of butter from the refrigerator. With a fresh loaf of bread inside one of the cupboards Iain had volunteered to whip up some bacon sandwiches for everyone.

It was lovely to know that they were always well provided for whenever a meeting was held at one of these buildings.

Matthew, now with a belly full of pork, was curled up on the sofa with Benjamin nursing in his arms. His failure to drink the bottled formula Gilbert had tried to feed him meant that by the time Matthew had arrived he was very hungry. Matthew grunted in discomfort whenever the baby got to be too boisterous with his suckling, going as far as grappling fistfuls of his Papa's skin with tiny hands. Gilbert sat quietly beside him, fingers linked and in-lap, thinking about and chickening out on any possible attempts of physical contact with his ex. Even just brushing him lightly on the cheek seemed almost unacceptable, forbidden even.

And beside him Francis was perched on the edge of the sofa cushion sipping black coffee from a mug while a plate containing the remainder of his sandwich sat balanced on his knee. Alfred was on the floor, an empty plate at his side as he and Peter focused on the screen of the boy's laptop, the latter urging commands as they played a rather vigorous video game.

From afar Berwald and Tino proudly watched, sipping sweet hot chocolate whilst they quietly spoke to one another. Since their last encounter the month before, all could see that Tino was looking much better. The colour had returned to his cheeks and the expressive glimmer back in his soft lavender eyes. It was a huge relief for everyone really, especially considering the fact that he'd been under the weather for quite some time.

It seemed that several from the meeting were missing from the room; namely Germany, Japan, Italy and Russia. The Axis three nobody seemed to worry for as France had reassured them that he'd overheard that they'd gone out to one of the local Parisian cafes to eat. Russia's location was questionable, on the other-hand. Iain had clearly warned that if anyone was to leave the room it should be in pairs or threes – just to be sure. And when Matthew had gone to the bathroom again in order to change Benjamin's diaper, he wasn't sure what to think when he was shadowed by both the seemingly nonchalant Berwald and his oddly over-protective brother.

Time was ticking on. One o'clock was fast approaching but Matthew was adamant that he didn't want to leave his baby, even if the second part of the meeting was only an hour and a half longer.

He asked if he could bring the now-sleeping baby into the meeting. It couldn't hurt, he said, Benjamin wouldn't be a problem. But Gilbert said Russia could. That Russia was a bad man and should not be trusted. And he wouldn't be asleep long if the older nations got a bit out of hand with the volume level of their voices.

* * *

Arthur and Francis spent out their last minutes of lunch taking turns cradling Benjamin. Alfred, finding himself and Iain alone, took him off to the side by the open window and out of earshot. He had had this plan for a while now. He knew, like with many other nations, that Iain was very fond of Matthew when and if he could remember him.

The American reached into the inside pocket of his bomber jacket.

"Listen up, man. I have a proposition for you." Iain arched a thick red brow. He took a drag from his cigarette, aiming for the open window as he exhaled. The sight of Alfred's fingers curled tentatively around something green made his eyes flash with greed.

"Alright. What is it, lad?" Alfred stood about the same height as the Scot allowing him to lock eyes with ease. And even Iain could see by the look in his eyes reflected that the young man meant business. It wasn't something he'd often seen coming from him.

"Mattie likes you." He said rather bluntly.

"An' who doesn't?"

"I know Russia's a rough guy but he doesn't like you, right?" Iain sucked on the end of his cigarette during a rather brief recollection.

"Aye, I s'pose. What of it?" Alfred glanced warily towards the others. He seemed keen to insure that nobody was watching at the precise moment where he stuffed a fistful of notes into Iain's half-closed hand.

"I want you," He lowered his voice. "To start going out with Mattie."

"Ye what?"

"You heard me. Go out with Mattie. At least until that Commie-bastard leaves him alone. As long as you're with him I don't think Russia will bother him. Got it?"

Now, as much as Iain loved Matthew as a 'nephew' he didn't think he could carry out this relationship as anything other than what they already had. That and he didn't think fifty quid would even be enough to cover one night out while leaving him with some extra for his own pocket.

"Nah, lad. I'm yer wrong bloke," He smiled deviously to himself, lazily offering the money back. "I don't think I'm qualified fer this kinda job. Maybe ye could ask Cuba or Netherlands or another one of the bairn's mates."

"Look, it's you I'm asking and it's only you who's going to do it," Alfred delved a second time into his wallet and shoved another wad of notes Iain's way. "I'll give you $100 for every week you spend with him, up until the baby's born. But as soon as that happens or as soon as you split, I'm gonna stop the cash."

Iain seemed to be calculating how much money he could make if he stayed the remaining seven or so months. Not as much as he could make if he'd stayed at the very start, he realised. Even so he gave Alfred a rather dubious look.

"I know you're having money problems, Iain. Arthur's said."

"Make it hundred-and-fifty a hit and ye got yerself a deal."

"What?"

"Don't sound like that, lad. Yer thee richest country in the world – ye can handle a little loss of dosh like that, can't you?" Alfred grumbled and added the final notes, totalling Iain's income to one-hundred-and-fifty as asked.

Perhaps it wasn't a moral thing to do. To promise to stick with the boy as a temporary lover in return for a quick buck. But Iain didn't think he'd feel bad for it, not for now anyways. Even if he did end up shattering the boy's heart he was sure Matthew would get over it.

He was doing something right, right? He was protecting the gentler, susceptible Canadian nation from someone bigger and stronger. Hell, he could even think of it as a body-guarding duty if it helped him to sleep at night. And if things happened to get too intimate on his 'client's' side, he'd just have to go along with it. But no sex. He would work to keep Matthew from trying to initiate that.

"Remember, dude; keep him happy and keep him safe. If you don't and he or either of the kids gets hurt, I'll kick your ass. Know what I'm sayin'?"

"Aye, don't worry. But while I'm busy do us a favour an' keep a close eye on me brother in return." He shot a look at the rather drowsy Englishman back at the sofa, babe in-arm. Alfred nodded. What kind of hero would he be if he didn't look out for his boyfriend?

"It's a deal."

* * *

Arthur passed Benjamin over to Matthew for a final goodbye hug before they left for the conference. Berwald and Tino had already done such and had left to get their seats, Peter barely noticing they were gone as he continued to violently zap zombies on his laptop.

Alfred casually sauntered over with a hint of a smile. He helped Arthur up, who was still looking a bit off-colour. In his ear Arthur admitted in a whisper that he was experiencing stomach cramps and that he was feeling horribly tired. This earned him a little pat on the belly and an offer for him to stay and nap instead. Arthur had to decline, bravely agreeing to attend the meeting anyways.

"Come on, _Petit_. We 'ave to get back before Germany 'as a fit, and that won't be a pretty sight." Matthew gingerly handed his bundle of joy over to his other parent. Gilbert tried his luck at pecking him on the cheek when he drew close which ultimately failed as the blonde boy evaded to the side. Violet met crimson for just a moment. Gilbert felt as though his heart had been torn from his chest and left to suffer in the cruel cold of the outside world. He didn't understand why Matthew was being so cold. Really, had his Mattie been hurt so badly by a few choice words? Well… now that he thought about it… no, he didn't want to think about it.

"See you later, Mattie."

"Bye, Gilbert." Matthew stroked his sleeping son's head once more before he allowed Francis to take his hand and lead him. Or, at least he thought it was Francis. Without thinking he leaned sideways into Iain, seeking comfort before he actually looked. His feeble smile met the large whiskery grin of his newly (unknowingly to him) assigned boyfriend. And although Matthew seemed to shrink away he did not let go.


	7. It's Only a Tummy Ache

**Chapter 6: ****It's Only a Tummy Ache**

**Date: ****11th April, 2013 (April part 1)**

* * *

Matthew went after the tall red-head, in something between a jog and a scurry, that seem to effortlessly carry a cardboard box containing a disassembled wooden cot like it were nothing. In one arm Matthew held his giggling son against his chest while the opposite clutched a travel bag full of diapers and baby wipes. His protruding three-month belly was beginning to look just a little bit obvious now.

"Iain, you really don't have to-"

"Aye, but I do, lad."

A few weeks had passed since the meeting in Paris. Arthur and Alfred had returned to Arthur's isolated country mansion just outside of London. The same one set in the middle of a patch of private land with good fifteen or so acres of woodland hiding an abundance of roe deer and pheasants all-yearly.

Matthew had been invited to stay. It seemed Francis disliked having the Scotsman around his small penthouse room on top of already having four other people. That didn't include the two cats and the polar bear cub. He needed his space and privacy again, and really, with Antonio and Gilbert wanting to come over every other night for a drink he deemed it potentially unsafe.

And besides, the mansion was much bigger. More space. Matthew had been given the 'all-clear' by his boss – it was safe for him to stay in the UK until he had the baby. And Arthur had said the country air would do both him and Benjamin the world of good – the city was too noisy and much too dirty a place to be, not to mention dangerous. A filthy breeding grounds for vermin, human and animal alike, Arthur had said. What made him say it despite his general love for the urban jungle Alfred had wondered.

So, tied by the deal he'd made with the devil (or so what he called Alfred) Iain insisted on helping Matthew move his and Benjamin's gear.

Iain whistled casually as he pretended not to hear Matthew. He kicked the front door of the mansion open and carefully put his load down on the inside of the front door. Matthew appeared at his side.

"R-really Iain, I can do it." Alfred came walking in through the door with a box full of toys and clothes. As soon as everything was unloaded from the trunk of Francis' car they would take it all up to the guest room with the queen-sized bed to unpack properly.

Iain was also staying, for Arthur still had plans to keep him close on Matthew's behalf… but really it was the paper green from Alfred's wallet that kept him at their heels.

So he got the guest room with the pull-out sofa bed. At least this room had a private bathroom and a television. He couldn't really complain.

"So can I. Now, why don't ye go an' put yer feet up on the settee an' have a wee kip. We can do thee rest."

"I-I don't need to be dependent on all of you guys all of the time, y'know! Let me help!"

Matthew stormed back out to the car in pursuit of the Scotsman and the American. He stopped by the boot of the car with a hand on his hip.

"I can carry my own stuff in." He went on to say for perhaps the fiftieth time. He was like a persistent little terrier, nipping at their heels and yapping up a storm. Iain rolled his eyes with a soft groan. Why was this kid being so stubborn? He looked to Alfred for answers but got none.

"Alright, fine. Take this." Iain pulled out Benjamin's baby blanket from amongst the remaining suitcases. "We can manage thee rest."

Matthew was about to say something until Iain wrapped the blanket gently around his wrist and gave him a pat on the shoulder. Matthew's shoulders sagged. He gave up. He knew he couldn't win – if he could, he would've won by now. That was just his problem; he wasn't assertive.

He followed the pair of them inside, each of the older two carrying a suitcase containing more recently bought clothes and shoes. But once inside Matthew was adamant to allow them to carry everything upstairs themselves.

With sneaky stealth he managed to snatch up one of the suitcases.

* * *

"_Cher_, what's wrong? Come; let's get you out of the car. Surely it cannot be all that comfortable."

"Piss... off… frog…"

The Englishman was proving to be outwardly difficult. He was curled up in the backseat of the car drifting in and out of a conscious state. Francis scooted next to him, pushing back his fringe as it insisted on trying to hinder his view. How could he have not realised how tired the younger man was before?

Francis unsnapped the seat belt and gathered Arthur into his arms, carefully manoeuvring him out of the car.

"You'll catch a cold if you sleep out 'ere." Francis told him, carrying him much like one would hold a young child; inwardly with his cheek propped up against the Frenchman's neck and with his arms wrapped across surprisingly broad and manly shoulders that didn't look as though they belonged on the rather fair Frenchman.

It wasn't so bad having a sleepy Arthur to carry; his unresponsive behaviour, though a tad worrying, made it so that he was merely a dead weight. But luckily he wasn't a very heavy dead weight. In fact, Francis was more than certain that Arthur had lost some weight. That probably wasn't a good sign.

He kept one hand underneath Arthur to support him whilst the opposite secured and held him close.

Francis carried him down the gravelled drive to the house. As he walked he couldn't help but notice the warmth radiating off of Arthur's skin, accompanied by short, quick breaths. Once inside Francis didn't even try to kick off his boots; he carried Arthur straight up to his bedroom.

"You better not be getting sick on me, _Angleterre_," He said, setting Arthur between the cool bed sheets. "Hm…. You look fine, if not a bit warm." Francis clicked his tongue in annoyance. He began to quickly work at unbuttoning the younger nation's shirt to help him keep cool, and then pulling the blanket up to his chest just to even the temperature for him.

Arthur lolled his head to the side, eyes easing open. He looked fine like Francis had mentioned but his eyes were a little dark. He'd looked as though he'd been up all night on top of the exhaustion he might already be having.

Sympatheticly Francis started off by stroking Arthur's cheeks with the backs of his fingers before gradually following his jawline to his ears and then up along the backs of his cheek towards the crown of his head. The dirty blonde hair of the Brit he calloused in turn, twining the strands around his dexterous digits. He kept this up until Arthur felt it was quite enough and so proceeded to swat the man away before he decided to get too carried away.

"Leave me alone!" He suddenly cried, twisting onto his side and flinging the duvet over his head. Francis recoiled his hand with an expression on his face that questioned whether or not he should even be bothering. The Englishman would be ungrateful either way, complaining for one reason or another.

For half a minute or so, neither of them spoke. But Arthur knew he was looking at him. Every now and again he sniffled from his out-of-view spot, fretfully winding the blanket tighter around his shoulders.

"_Angleterre_, 'ave you 'ad any sleep recently?" Francis reached out to tease the top of Arthur's messy mop, unprotected compared to the rest of his scalp. Arthur did not reply nor did he resist. So Francis sat there and continued to smooth his palm over what little scalp he could see. He went on like this for just a bit longer saying nothing as he tussled the untamed locks of hair.

He waited until Arthur relaxed, watching carefully for when his shoulders gave way against the mattress and his body uncurling. Francis brought a finger up and hooked it into the blanket and carefully he began to pull down past Arthur's eyes.

Normally Francis didn't have the patience for Arthur whenever he was in one of his moods but today he was feeling exceptionally generous with his time, as well as his curiosity had taken a firm hold on matters.

Mossy green met sky blue as the two locked eyes as the white barrier of cotton was tugged away. They sat looking at each like this; Francis perched on the edge with his finger still catching the bed sheet, readying to pull the rest down any moment. Arthur eyed him dubiously, particularly when Francis' face split into a smile that stretched from ear to ear. Somewhere outside the room, a little further up on the landing, Benjamin was crying.

Francis decided upon changing the subject matter. He hoped that if he did he could coax Arthur out of his mood.

"It's been a long time since a little one 'as been on these grounds, _Angleterre_," He began innocently, turning to watch the landing outside the open door. "Not since _Mathieu_ and Alfred were small."

The creases that outlined a subtle frown smoothed out again and Arthur nodded quietly. Francis scooted an inch closer.

"_Mathieu_ 'as another little one on the way as well. I 'ope e'll cope well with two babies, especially if 'e is on 'is own."

"He has us." His companion replied quietly, adverting his eyes to his feet where he curled them experimentally against the oppressing fabric of his socks.

Francis' eyes remained drawn to his face, hunting out the glimmer in his former lover's eyes. It was a glimmer he'd fallen in love with, not needed to learn to like, one that seemed to act like an illuminating light for the already rather beautiful eyes of the Brit. But as Francis concluded the search, he realised that today it was absent and his eyes had been left in the dark. They reminded the Frenchman of an old pair of jade-green glass marbles; they were dim and vacant, devoid of any life.

"_Cher_, you're too quiet. It's very unlike you… in fact, I'm beginning to worry," He pushed a hand back to his forehead. "Does your head 'urt?"

Arthur slowly shook his head.

"No."

"What about your tummy?"

Francis swiftly brought it down to the man's abdomen, stroking the smooth skin with a single finger, earning him a sharp smack. The fact that Francis had used such a childish word made him sound as though he was deliberately trying to be patronising towards the crestfallen Englishman. Arthur did not appreciate this in the slightest.

"Piss off and stop touching me! I'm not sick!" Francis reluctantly pulled away, crossing his hands over his lap neatly.

"_Angleterre_… don't try to convince me that you're not." The Frenchman walked to the opposite side of the bed and crawled on beside him though remaining above the sheets. At once he looped an arm around the younger nation, pulling him close in a friendly hug. There was no grabbing or groping or kissing or licking… just a warm, neutral embrace.

Alfred had made it clear during one of his rare jealous-possessive moods one day, shortly after Arthur and Francis broke up years ago, that Arthur was strictly off-limits to his former partner. Alfred didn't like it when Francis got too romantically touchy-feely, especially not with his England. And Francis had been confronted angrily enough times to know that he couldn't get away with it whenever he groped or inappropriately fondled him in front of the American. Francis couldn't put his finger on it but Alfred had seemed a little more roguish since discovering his brother's initial pregnancy last Christmas. It was nice in a way. And Francis still remembered the night after Antonio's birthday night two months ago. He couldn't have been happier when he woke up next to Arthur, naked.

Arthur tried pulling away but Francis' hold was vice-like. He pushed his bearded chin to his ear.

"_Angleterre_, you were sick this morning in the bathroom."

Arthur cringed. Had he really heard him? No, of course not! The stupid shit-beard was simply bluffing.

But if he was bluffing how did he know he'd spent the early hours of the morning in the bathroom? He thought he'd done a wonderful job clearing up the vomit. It hadn't smelt too bad either; he'd left the bathroom window open before he'd slipped back to the bedroom and under Alfred's arm with a burning throat and stomach. Actually, all week he'd been waking up at the crack of dawn to vomit up his guts which ultimately led to him feeling nauseaous the rest of the day. He'd barely eaten since Sunday but with today being Thursday that was worrying.

"I'm fine… it must've just been something I ate." He had purposely spoke like that for it had been Francis who'd cooked nearly every meal since he'd stayed in Paris. He might've considered apologising… but he didn't.

He accepted being held, leaning deeper into Francis' arms and inhaled his masculine musk as a way to calm himself. Even now he was still feeling a bit like crap.

"You've 'aven't eaten very much these past days, _Cher_. There's a village with a shop nearby if I remember correctly, _oui_? Let me go and buy a few things and I'll come back to make you lunch before I 'ave to go."

Arthur shook his head, bowing his head against the other man's solid chest.

"No… thank you… I'm not hungry." Francis slipped his hands on Arthur's upper arms, pulling the obstinate blonde away from his person so that he could look him in the eye.

"_Cher,_ I can't leave knowing that you 'aven't eaten anything. You missed breakfast this morning as well… and you need fresh supplies for the 'ouse anyways," Francis said. "I'll make you whatever you want~" The tone in Francis' voice was a temptress; Arthur would never admit that he enjoyed the Frenchman's cooking… but he certainly knew his way around the kitchen.

Francis wanted to make sure Arthur got at least one good square meal before he left them because he knew once he was gone they would either be forced to eat the Englishman's God-awful meals or take-out. Matthew would probably end up having to do all of the cooking in order to save himself and his baby.

He squirmed with the likeness of a young child as Francis stood, smiling appealingly.

"I won't be taking _non_ for an answer, Arthur. 'ave a sleep and I'll bring something to eat up in an hour or so."

Arthur remained bolt upright with his arms down between his legs, a look of pure misery on his face. It wasn't until Francis helped him that he finally agreed to lay back down. Francis plumped the pillows and pulled the sheets over his cheek. It was nice to think that the Englishman was finally appreciating what was being done for him, or at least that was what he hoped. He could be so stubborn sometimes.

Closing the door behind, Francis hurried across the landing. He met Iain and Matthew on the staircase and alerted them of his plans. Prenatal vitamins, diapers, milk formula and a bottle of whiskey were added to the shopping list, Iain confirming with a hand over his heart that he wouldn't drink excessively whilst he was staying. And while they were on the subject Iain also requested some ready-rolled cigarettes.

_"I'm not gonna smoke them in thee house, don't get yer panties in a twist."_

After throwing his ashen trench coat (the one with the silver buttons) on and locating his keys in the kitchen, Francis did a quick survey of the kitchen just to see what other essentials would be needed and took off to the local village in his car. The city wasn't far but frankly he didn't want the hassle. It was almost 5pm and many would be leaving for home. Trying to escape the rush would be atrocious!

So, limited to only a little green-grocers, a corner shop and a pharmacy, Francis didn't have any troubles getting everything on his list, save for the whiskey. Iain would get a nice bottle of red wine instead. In fact, Francis got two bottles; tonight he was expecting a shit load of paperwork from his boss and he'd need something to numb the pain of it all.


	8. I'm Not Hungry!

**Chapter 7:**** 'I'm Not Hungry!'**

**Date:****11th April, 2013 (April part 2)**

* * *

Less than forty-five minutes passed before a sleek navy blue car pulled back into the drive, gravel crunching noisily as the tires rolled easily over. Francis parked up and got out of the driver's side, collecting a couple of full plastic shopping bags full of supplies from his short trip out of the trunk.

He walked over to the front door, juggling the bags as he grabbed and turned the doorknob. He stepped inside; kicking the door closed again with a foot and stood in the foyer for a moment. The house was still and silent. Nobody seemed to be around.

"I'm back~" He sang, his voice a clue to the fact that he was in high spirits, God knows why that be. He put the bags down as he removed and hung up his coat with a soft hum. Nobody appeared to greet him except the three cats who briskly trotted down the hallway in a chorus of needy mews.

The old Scottish fold who went by the name of Knight and it's younger, furrier companions pursued Francis as he continued into the kitchen, the feline trio jumping up onto the kitchen counter one after the other where the food dishes sat empty, not a crumb of cat biscuits left.

From the bags Francis fished out three tins of the store-brand cat food he'd purchased. After an argument with the tin-opener he plonked the cheap meat before the three hungry felines. The old cat of Arthur's rejected the unfamiliar meal, only watching in disgust with a moody growl as Charlie guzzled his dishful. The other, Moose, ate his with not quite as much gusto but nonetheless he polished it off with a satisfied purr lingering.

"You're welcome." Francis said dryly to Knight as he began to put certain groceries away.

A pan was popped on the hob and the appropiate oven knob turned to heat it. Francis emptied some oats and milk into the pan, giving it a thorough stir with a metal tablespoon.

From well-derived knowledge the Frenchman knew that porridge may have been a bland and often unfavourable meal but it was one that would not upset the stomach too badly. Perfect, he'd thought when he had been in the shops earlier.

Once it was prepared he dolloped a generous portion into a shallow bowl and left the rest to simmer on the hob. From the fridge he took out a small pot of the plain vanilla yogurt he'd also purchased and dribbled it over the oatmeal dish in hopes that it would add a bit of flavour to the chewy boring oats.

He added the bowl to a serving tray along with a glass of water and headed upstairs in a brisk motion.

The landing was filled with Matthew's boxes and suitcases of things. It looked as though they had plans to unpack everything later on, though one of the boxes did look as though it'd already been attacked, and the cot was nowhere in sight.

"_Angleterre_, are you awake?" The door creaked on its hinges. Francis tutted, noting the unhealthy squeak of the metal.

"Hey Francis," That didn't sound like Angleterre. "Artie's asleep. What's wrong him with him?"

There was Alfred, curled up on the bed beside Arthur whom was tucked beneath the covers. A semi-peaceful look bestowed his handsome features.

"_Oui._ 'Ow you 'aven't noticed is a testament to 'ow much you actually notice about 'im though." Francis moved across the room towards them and perched himself next to the Brit. He set the tray down on the bedside table with a soft clatter and reached for the Brit's hand. He began rubbing it warmly gently between his own hands to rouse him and soon enough just as predicted, the flicker of soft moss-green eyes made Francis smile. Francis couldn't help but put a hand to Arthur's head to stroke his hair that felt slightly damp; presumably by sweat, he thought.

"Did you 'ave a nice sleep, _mon cher_?"

_Keep your hands to yourself, dickwad…_ Alfred mouthed over Arthur's soft groans of protest. The Englishman rolled his head into the kind touch, not seeming to care either way. Francis eventually slipped a hand behind Arthur, applying just a bit of pressure to his back as he helped him to sit up. The American seemed to notice this and so pulled the plump white pillows up to act as a cushion of sorts to save his back from the direct hardness of the solid wooden headboard.

Arthur's eyes were heavy and rimmed, reminding Alfred of one of those raccoon-type animals he saw rummaging for garbage in his backyard occasionally at home. The only difference being that his Artie wasn't a small, potentially-rabid creature with a short temper. _Apparently_.

"Where are _Mathieu_ and Iain?" Francis asked the room's youngest occupant with a raised brow. "I didn't 'ear either of them when I came in."

Alfred liked to think of himself as a rather sly chap now. He was certain that he'd done his little brother a favour in bribing Iain. The Frenchman eyed him quietly as he took the tray into his lap and the spoon into his fingers, looping it through the easy-on-the-stomach meal whilst he waited for a reponse.

"They were watching TV when I left them." Alfred took one look at the bowl of milky, lumpy porridge. His faced screwed up in disgust. Arthur on the other hand just sat quietly and watched with hazy bedroom eyes. Not a word left his lips. "Are you tryin' to make him even sicker? That's like, totally gross!"

"If 'e's not well then 'e very well can't be eating anything that might be difficult to digest. _Pauvre bébé_." He cooed the last part, holding a spoonful up to the man's chapped lips. "Open up~"

Arthur looked down his nose at the unappetising yogurt-oat mush. He certainly wasn't going to be eating that!

Like a fussy little child he swivelled his head to the side, snubbing the offering.

"T-thank you… but I'd rather not… I-I'm not hungry."

"_Oui _you are. Now don't try to push me away when I'm only trying to 'elp."

"I said I'm not hungry! Piss off and stop badgering me, shit-beard!"

Francis was taken aback by the foul insults of his groggy ex. But after a moment or two of allowing the words to gradually absorb he simply bounced back, this time with a look of determination marking his lips, brow and eyes. Alfred shuffled closer to Arthur. His glare, venomous, muscles tensed, as though he were about to spring upon his boyfriend's pest.

"Just one little bite. I think you'll like it, _Angleterre_. I've made it to be a bit sweeter." He put the spoon to his own lips and swallowed the contents just to prove that it wasn't poisoned. He reloaded the spoon. "Try it."

"I'm not hungry!"

"_Angleterre_, you didn't eat breakfast this morning. You were obviously sick this morning, I know. And no doubt you've been this way for a bit. I don't want to 'ave to force feed you like a little baby." Alfred was suddenly thrown a rather disgusted look by the Frenchman. "'Ow could you 'ave missed his symptoms and allowed 'im to suffer like this?"

"Hey, don't point any fingers at me!"

"_Imbécile_! You sleep in the same bed as 'im yet you fail to notice when 'e is sick?"

"Don't blame me! I'm just such a big hero, helping other countries and being the good guy and stuff, that it's kinda hard to notice the little things…"

"I suppose I shouldn't blame you, _Amérique_. 'Ow can I expect you to recognise a fever when you don't even know what a cold is?"

"Geez, that was ages ago! I can deal with a freakin' cold!"

"Both of you. Shut up and get out… just get out of my sight and let me rest peacefully, alright?"

The situation for England looked hopeless as both other nations just stared quietly, neither showing any signs of leaving.

"Please…?" Francis sighed. He plopped the spoon back into the porridge mix, running a hand through his hair as he tried to come up with a compromise. He didn't want to leave Arthur alone, especially with an empty belly.

"_Angleterre_, I know you're not 'ungry and I know a bowl of porridge is bland even to your tastes… but I won't leave you alone until I know you've eaten something. Now, tell me what you want to eat and I'll make it for you."

* * *

Meanwhile Matthew and Iain were sitting in the living room. Side by side on the couch, Benjamin nursing quietly in the crook of his Papa's arm. The television was on but neither Scotland nor Canada was really paying much attention to the channel. England claimed that since he so little time watching the box that he didn't bother paying for any of the fancy channels with the all-day game shows and comedy sitcoms. So Iain put an afternoon cooking show on in the background.

Matthew chose to try and ignore Iain, nipping at his bottom lip as he tried to watch the cooking show. The tall red-head was blatantly watching him breast-feed. Or was it the bump in his belly he was staring at?

"If ye bite yer lip like that then yer gonna make it bleed." The Scotsman warned. Matthew bowed his head.

"S-sorry. It's kind of a habit…" Matthew caressed the silvery tufts on his son's scalp just as the child unlatched himself from his breast. Matthew patted the child over the back until he let out a little gurgling belch.

"Does it hurt?"

"W-what?"

"When ye breast feed him."

He was _watching_? Matthew wrinkled his nose. _Creep_.

"I-I guess it's not comfortable… but it's okay. When his teeth come in I think it might hurt. I-I want to wean him onto formula and solids before the new baby arrives though just to make things easier." There was a long silence between the pair in which Iain watched the baby, still small for his age, roll in Matthew's arms. There was a full baby bottle of milk sat between the two grown nations, untouched and dejected by the tiny Benjamin.

"How's it workin' out fer ye?" Matthew could only sigh in response. The transfer was not going well.


	9. Going To The Doctors

**Chapter 8:**** Going To The Doctors**

**Date:**** 18th May, 2013 (May part 1)**

* * *

The merry month of May had finally rolled 'round. By now the winter had completely and thoroughly passed, taking with it the bitter winds, the 24 hour downpours and nightly frost-attacks that early spring had introduced. Instead it was replaced with the late rich warmth of late spring and all its glory – including daily rain showers and the bare minimum of pure, sunniness.

On this particular day Arthur Kirkland was standing in front of the wardrobe mirror in his bedroom with his only his pyjama bottoms on. He was standing in profile with his hands placed tentatively on his abdomen, feeling the odd lump that had situated itself there. It was difficult for him to tell but he was certain he'd put on a bit of weight.

"I just don't understand it… I haven't even been eating that much lately. Exercising hasn't done any good, either." He mused softly.

The nausea had continued right up until now, the vomiting happening only a few times a week with his core temperature keeping at a steady 98.8F. It wasn't quite a fever but its persistence worried Francis and Alfred greatly even when the Frenchman had left nearly a month ago for Paris. But Matthew had been actively keeping in touch with him via landline, spreading the news of Arthur's strange sickness. Now the Frenchman promised to return as soon as his boss would let him. Like he had said though, his citizens and duties could not be neglected.

Today Alfred was taking him to see the doctor.

Arthur hated to go to the doctors. They would either be prodding or poking him, asking him strange questions and basically making him feel uncomfortable and on display, like some poor mangy beast wasting away behind the bars at the zoo.

Almost every time he went, which was once in a blue moon, the Nation doctor would have a new protégé or two whom were training to take his or her place. He didn't care that he couldn't get to know them. He didn't want to get close to some humans whose only job was to stay alive in order to keep him healthy. So nosy the young doctors were. It seemed that the younger they were the more vicious the prodding, verbally and physically. He even deliberately refused to go to those ridiculous twice-annually check-ups just to avoid them. Pests.

So on the grounds that Alfred promised not to let them do such a thing he agreed to go.

* * *

"Gilbert, how many times do I need to tell you?"

"I'm not gonna stop asking. Please come back?"

"For what? Just so you can enjoy some maple syrup and force sex on me when you feel like it, but not when I want it?"

"Hey, that's not true…"

"Yes it is! Every time I wanted sex you made up some crappy excuse not to have it. B-but when you wanted it, no matter what we were already doing, you'd jump me! A-and then, and then afterwards you'd pester me to make you some damn pancakes! You only think about yourself!"

On the other end of the phone line Prussia was sat up in his bedroom in Germany's attic with the receiver cradled in both hands as he listened. He trembled just a little. Canada's voice sounded thick with tears. In the brief silence that quickly escalated into sniffles and sobs.

"Hey, Mattie… don't cry. I'm here, okay?" The crying went on but rather faintly. It was as though Matthew had pulled the phone away.

"Na yer not." Came a gruff, coarse voice heavy with a highland accent. Surprised, Gilbert was about to open his lips again when he heard the buzzing drone on the line confirming that he'd just been cut off.

Iain replaced the receiver on the old dial-phone that sat on the table next to the couch. Matthew pushed his head up against Iain's broad shoulder with a sob, clutching at the sweater he wore. The Scotsman pulled an arm around him and took a generous swig of lager from the half-pint bottle he was clutching so keenly.

Matthew didn't mind the bitter smell of alcohol. He had quickly learnt to get used to it when he'd been with Gilbert. The Prussian man had toned down his intake for Matthew's sake during the pregnancy, and if it came to a time where he simply had to have a couple of drinks he had to promise not to drive home. Then there was Ivan. It seemed the vodka didn't change him much. Sometimes Matthew had wondered if drinking an entire boatload of the horrid stuff would have made much difference to him.

In the evenings Matthew recalled seeing Ivan sitting in the big comfy armchair in his lounge often with Benjamin on his lap under one arm and a bottle in the other. It just amazed the Canadian how Benjamin and he had come out without so much as a scratch to their selves from drunken rage; it had been Raivis and Toris and Eduard who'd taken the roles of scapegoat outside of the bedroom. The mornings after he'd be offered bruised smiles and selfless words that could only form as some sort of pitiful comfort for Matthew. It let him know that that the blood and bruises were only skin-deep and that on the inside they would keep marching on. It made him feel better after the sex-filled nights spent with Ivan. Now when he thought about it he realised how selfish he'd been.

But Matthew had always been able to strip back the fake glee to uncover the blank looks in their eyes and the behind-the-line meanings to some of what left their lips.

He was glad to be gone from that horrid place.

"What ye thinkin' about, Matt?

Matthew said nothing for a moment, just staring back up at jade-green orbs with glassy violet ones. It was like Iain to notice whenever he spaced out.

"N-nothing, Iain," He nuzzled affectionately against his chest. Iain plopped a hand to the blonde head, moving it in gentle circles. "I'm fine."

Iain drained the last dregs of the bottle and set it aside on the table with a loud clink.

"If ye say so. But ye can tell me if somethin' s botherin' ye."

"I know."

Iain's arms were warm and comforting, much like Francis'. Matthew was too old to curl up in his papa's arms to be rocked to sleep like he had as a baby, he knew. Too old to act like a helpless little child who needed protecting from the Boogey Man or the monster underneath his bed. Or the Russian who lurked within his thoughts like a demon hell-bent on driving him insane. Those sorts of things one should expect from a five year old child, not from an adolescent nation who exceeded the age of any given human being currently living.

But thanks to Iain, everything that had been worrying him and plaguing him just vanished. He loved that Iain was here and he loved that Iain said that he wanted to stay with him, for him. Large gloved fingertips rubbed his scalp, massaging the roots deeply. Matthew sighed. Not that he was complaining about the whole thing, but then again Matthew didn't quite know why the man he'd always considered to be like an uncle to him was being so tender and understanding all of a sudden.

Benjamin had just recently been put upstairs for a nap which left the two of them to cuddle peacefully.

"I love you, Iain."

"…Love ye too…"

"C'mon! Stop fussing!"

"I've already told you! It's not going to fit me!" Matthew nuzzled Iain before adjusting himself carefully for a better view of his brother and Arthur who were out in the hallway. Alfred was trying to dress Arthur in a small red parka coat.

"Maybe try sucking your stomach in a bit?" Alfred demonstrated the idea by pulling in his own and holding it there for a moment with his cheeks growing puffed and red the longer he held it.

"I am sucking it in! Look, either way Sealand's old coat isn't going to fit me! I'll just go upstairs and get one from the airing cupboard-"

"I'll get it! Cuz, y'know, that's what heroes do!" And at that Alfred hurried back upstairs. Recently he'd felt rather guilty and he couldn't help but want to help out more. Once Francis had left them Alfred had realised how little he had been doing to help Arthur around the house, other than a few jobs here and there. Most of the time his most prominent use was to reach the saucepans and pots on top of the cupboard in the kitchen, or really anything that Arthur couldn't reach.

Arthur leaned against the doorway to the living room, apparently failing to notice the two sets of eyes that watched from the couch. One pair, green and slightly hazy with drink, continued to stare for the longest. Iain observed his brother quietly, lips licked and pursed as though he was about to begin speaking.

Arthur looked rather casual; his often-seen gentlemanly atire of a suit and trousers were absent, as were his usual green military uniform. It was the norm for him to wear a simple pair of brown flat-front trousers with a beige hand-knitted V-neck vest and tie over a long-sleeve shirt, so really Iain shouldn't have been surprised. But something else about his brother had caught his eye, something that made him chuckle a little bit on the inside. Something he just _had_ to obnoxiously point out.

"Yer lookin' a bit fat in thee gut there, Arthur." Arthur whipped around with his arms crossed over his chest. The fact that the Scotsman was poking fun at him for such a petty reason irked him, as did many things he said or did. Come to think of it many things had been pissing the Brit off recently.

"Oh, do shut up!" The Englishman snapped a hint of hurt evident in his voice.

"Na, lad, I'm only sayin' that yer gettin' a wee bit big. Strange seein' as ye haven't been eatin' much lately." A look of spite settled on Arthur's weathered face. A self-conscious hand slipped down to grapple the lump on his stomach.

"It's just a little bit of weight," He retorted lowly. "I'm off to the doctors to see to this flu I've got. Antibiotics or some prescription drugs of some sort should do it, I think."

A sound like thunder boomed as Alfred descended the staircase, bursting forward like the Reaper was after him. He stopped before Arthur, bouncing on his heels as he did. From over his shoulder he produced a rather large hooded cornflower blue raincoat and held it up by the shoulders.

"Will this do? It's one of mine so it's plenty big!"

"Look, we'll be late if we don't hurry. Just forget the coat, I'll be fine." Alfred pushed his bottom lip out.

"Nuh uh. It's freezing out there-"

"It's not."

"-And, y'know, it's no good if you spend the whole car trip bitching about the cold-" He stopped when he met the irate green of England's eyes. "-Okay, fine. But let's take it with us anyways. If you don't want it we can leave it in the car."

Iain was suddenly at their sides with the drained lager bottle in-hand.

"I'm poppin' off ter thee shops inna bit fer some maple syrup an' eggs. Do we need anythin' else?"

"There's a shopping list taped to the fridge – get off!" Arthur told him as Alfred tried to pull the flimsy blue coat over his shoulders. "We'll be back from the clinic in a couple of hours, hopefully by noon."

"Then I'll have lunch on thee table by yer return. Don't be late." Arthur nodded appreciatively before the Scotsman gave him a parting hug and a reassuring pat on the back. He knew Arthur didn't like the doctor's and felt that there was no need to torment him about it. The smell of disinfected hallways and that awful 'nursing-home' smell in the waiting room made him nauseous too.

"Ain't nothin' to worry about. Thee worst them docs ar' gonna do is maybe stick a needle in yer arm. An' if they give ye any shite just give 'em a wallap back." Iain chuckled hoarsely – he sounded dreadful. But it was his own fault. He went through thirty-odd cigarettes daily, washing the ash and tar down with long swigs of beer, wine, spirits – basically any alcohol he could get.

A little smile crept across Arthur's otherwise down-spirited features. Even he had enjoyed his big brother's company to _some_ extent.

Behind Arthur's back the redhead and American exchanged glances; one that said 'Pay me' and the other just nodding silently before taking Arthur's hand and leading him through the front door and out to the awaiting car. Iain watched from the foyer window for a moment before slinking back to join Matthew back in the warm confines of the sitting room.


	10. Worming Tablets and Making Dates

**Chapter 9:**** Worming Tablets and Making Dates**

**Date:****18th May, 2013 (May part 2)**

* * *

There weren't many others in the waiting room of the surgery with America and England, rendering it to be rather peaceful. It was one of those typical waiting rooms, with the little room behind a window where the receptionist sat. Two dozen or so chairs were arranged around the room, a small low-set coffee table set in the middle with a pile of outdated magazines and newspapers and a toy box in the corner for visiting children.

After Arthur had signed himself in at the desk he had sat himself down with a cuisine magazine. He'd just settled on a rather interesting article on home-baking when Alfred plonked down beside, a stupid grin plastered over his face – his pathetic attempt to make the Brit crack a smile. Arthur shrank back behind the magazine pretending not to notice.

A woman soon walked in with a six-year old boy holding her hand. There was already another mother and her own son and daughter sitting in the room so it was only a matter of time between the two women conversed noisily, apparently already acquainted. The three children chattered in the corner. The box of tatty toys was attacked and gradually emptied, things like plastic animals and little toy trucks spilling all over the floor.

"Aw… Artie, aren't they cute~" Arthur peered over the top of his read, eyebrows furrowed. Two of the young children were playfully tussling over a teddy bear, giggling cheerfully.

"I suppose." He whispered back, face softening as he redirected his gaze back to the magazine pages. He promptly jabbed the American in the arm. "Stop looking at them; their mothers are going to think you're a bloody pervert."

"Arthur Kirkland? Doctor Thompson is ready to see you now. Through this door, third room on the left." The receptionist called.

* * *

"Ah, England, it's nice to finally meet you. And you're America, I take it? What a lovely surprise. Please, take a seat, will you?" Both nations stepped inside the room that smelt vaguely of bleach and chemicals. The doctor, a man in his mid-twenties with neatly groomed features who sat beside a small desk, was all smiles yet he possessed a firm undertone. The pair of them took their seats.

As Arthur looked around he realised that they were the only ones in the room. Immediately Arthur knew that this little brat wasn't familiar; he was quite obviously his newest doctor, and an inexperienced uppity one at that.

"Yes… this is a surprise…"

"Indeed. You've skipped out on every check-up for the past thirty-six months. I do hope you're not so seriously ill that you're using me as a last resort, England." Thompson turned to his desk. There was a computer sitting amongst a clutter of bits and pieces. From beside the keyboard he picked up a clipboard.

"France phoned in the other day. He mentioned your temperature hasn't gone down yet and you've actually put on a bit of weight despite eating very little."

"Yes, that's right... but I haven't put on _that_ much... it's a pound or two at _most_. You don't suppose it's something serious, do you?"

The doctor said nothing as he continued to examine the clipboard of notes and papers, checking and scrawling with a black ballpoint, sharp brown eyes fixed and occasionally grunting to himself. Arthur and Alfred exchanged looks of worry. A large hand of Alfred's enclosed over one of Arthur's, squeezing it gently for comfort.

"Ah, I shouldn't worry. I'll give you a shot of antibiotics to fight the fever and any possible infection first. Now you've got cats, haven't you? Have they been wormed recently?" Arthur raised an eyebrow at such a peculiar question.

"What does that have to do with anything?" He snapped, a charge of anger electrifying his voice. "Of course they're bloody wormed. Every three months, like you're supposed to." Arthur took Knight with him every time he decided to stay at another one of his fine homes, although when abroad the cat was often made to fend for himself. He was a crafty feline who despite his old age was an excellent mouser. A real outdoorsy type. It wouldn't surprise Arthur if he had picked up worms or ticks or fleas somewhere; so the best he could do was efficiently counter it.

"It's only a question, England, sir. I only ask because it's possible that you may have contracted worms from them."

"I beg your pardon?! Worms?"

"Although with a raised temperature it might be unlikely, especially if your pets have been recently treated. But the lack of an appetite and the bloating convinces me otherwise." He got up from his seat and wandered over towards a medicine cabinet where he began sorting through a variety of bottles and boxes until he took one out.

Alfred's expression was unreadable; in some way he looked rather amused at this fact but at the same time, disgusted.

"What… do you suppose I should do then?"

"You've got Canada staying with you, am I correct? And he's pregnant again."

"Answer my question!" The box was offered. Worming tablets. Arthur wrinkled his nose as the doctor tapped it with a forefinger.

"Take these according to the instructions. Everyone in the house should too, but the baby and Canada. Follow strict hygiene regulations for them and yourselves and get the cats checked up at the vets. I recommend you come back in six weeks for a follow up, and bring Canada with you."

* * *

"That was a bloody disgrace!"

"Calm down. It wasn't that bad, y'know."

"Do you realise how embarrassing that was, walking back out of into the waiting room with a leaflet on good hygiene and some fucking worming tablets?"

"Nobody saw," Alfred unlocked the door to the car and helped Arthur inside. "I offered to put the box in my pocket but noo…."

"The man was clueless! He didn't even give me a proper examination: one shot in the arm and bloody lecture on good body hygiene and he sends us off again!"

"I know, I know. Just try to calm down a bit, 'kay?" The agitated Englishman fell back into his car seat, arms crossed as Alfred fastened the seatbelt. "Is there any info on the leaflet about pregnancy?" With a grumble Arthur opened it up and began to scan over the paragraphs and images for the appropriate advice. If he did happen to be harbouring any of the grotesque little parasites the last thing he wanted was to endanger Matthew's children.

"Give me a moment."

Within a matter of minutes the car was trundling down the surprisingly busy streets of the city outskirts, weaving to occasionally overtake or avoid other cars. Alfred had a hard time focusing; no matter how many times he stayed in the country he could never quite get used to driving on the left side of the road.

"Unbelievable, isn't it?" Arthur suddenly piped, eyes glued to the pamphlet.

"What is?"

"I give him a couple of symptoms and he immediately suggests I have worms. A slight raise in temperature, bloating and appetite loss… it could be absolutely anything!"

"Yeah, well, let's just do as he says for the time being. There's no point getting all worked up about it, I mean, he's only tryin' to help after all."

Arthur stuffed the leaflet into his trouser pocket with a huffy sigh. He wasn't going to take that medicine – no way in hell! It was humiliating enough just walking out. He was pretty certain that one of the women in the waiting room had flashed him a smirk when she saw what he had. It was like going to the doctor's for some headlice treatment; nobody wanted to do it because it was simply embarrassing to be seen that way.

When they finally left the city behind in favour of the many miles of windy, narrow country road, they were able to slow the vehicle into an easier pace. Arthur had insisted, after all. The country roads had many blind bends and tight spots; the last thing he wanted was to be in hospital because Alfred had sped around a corner only to careen right into another car.

A shamble of trees up in the distance on a small bit of raised land guarded by an iron gate marked the beginnings of Arthur's property. Alfred smiled and readjusted his grip on the steering wheel, barely noticing how tightly he'd been clutching it.

"We're almost there~" He grinned

Gravel crunched nosily as the car pulled up in front of the house. Arthur's head was nestled into the raincoat that had been brought along, the crinkly thing folded into a pillow for his use. Alfred parked up in the usual spot. Iain's car was gone.

Alfred gently woke Arthur from his doze, leading him out of the car and up to the front door. The door was unlocked so they simply walked straight on in.

"Mattie, we're back, bro~" It had to be at once because no sooner had the words left Alfred's lips that his brother appeared in the foyer, probably from the living room. He was like a jack-in-the-box. The door had swung open and he'd practically jumped out of hiding from the other room! It made Alfred and Arthur jump!

"You're back early!" He was smiling, a hint of anxiousness evident in his voice. Benjamin was cradled in his arms, little eyes closed as he slept. "Iain only just left for the shops a few minutes ago…. What did the doctor say?" A dark look from Arthur to Alfred simply said 'you tell him' was transferred as the Englishman kicked off his shoes and wandered into the kitchen for a cup of tea.

"Well… according to the doc, Artie might have worms. He's got medicine for it but everyone's gotta take it – 'cept you and Ben. You just gotta be clean." The brothers walked into the sitting room together where they settled themselves on the couch.

"Worms? Ugh… I guess that means I'll have to the vets to get some tablets for Kumajiro and Moose."

"Nah, don't worry. I don't think its worms."

"Really? You sure about that?"

"Yeah. That doctor guy was a douche. He hardly did anything so I don't think we can trust him."

The brothers fell silent for a moment as Benjamin began to stir. He rolled in Matthew's arms with a low whine, twisting until his little violet eyes met with his uncle's. The child blinked, undeterred by the fact that the man was staring at him, gurgled brightly and wriggled. Matthew giggled, scooping him up by his underarms and lowering him onto the carpeted floor. He held a flat palm against his back for a brief moment whilst he reached for a couch cushion to prop him up with.

Benjamin popped a thumb in his mouth and began to suck noisily, little shiny eyes observing the American who sat next to his papa with apparent great interest. A moment or two more passed before the baby withdrew the digit from his mouth and reached out with grabby hands towards Alfred with a childish squeal. Alfred couldn't help but comply, leaning forward to pick him back up with a cry of his own.

"Gaah, he's so freakin' cute!"

"B-be careful with him!" Benjamin chortled with the upmost delight. He reached forward with pudgy hands, seizing and yanking Texas from America's face and tossing them onto the floor by his feet.

"O-oh, Ben!" Matthew stooped to grab the discarded specs although the bump in his belly proved to be a bit of a hindrance.

"Aw, calm down Mattie. He's not doing any harm," He took the specs from his brother and propped them back onto the bridge of his nose. "See? Texas is fine." He passed Benjamin back over.

"Sorry… he's just gotten so grabby lately. He's getting bigger and stronger and more mobile…"

"He's a little kid, he's gonna grow up at some point and then you're gonna love it!" Alfred was beginning to thoroughly enjoy the thought of having Benjamin and another nephew or niece visiting him. "Then when they're big you can take them to their first days at school and to the park to feed the ducks at the lake, and to their hockey game matches… dude, it's gonna be sweet!"

Alfred couldn't help but go onto thinking of the family at the yearly Christmas parties and visiting theme parks, among other things. He was going to be the cool heroic uncle, the one that the kids would runaway to when they were emotionally distraught or when they'd fallen out with Matthew after a long argument regarding something trivial such as the child's sexuality or grades. He was going to be a part of something huge!

At the spur of the moment these thoughts completely drowned out anything remotely sensible, sinking them to the bottom as though they were some sort of invalid. Alfred had never thought it was all possible or ever would be.

He couldn't wait. Someone would've thought that it was he who was expecting, not his little brother.

"A-Al, I don't think I can do it."

"Eh?"

Matthew was shaking his head, furiously fighting to stop the tears before they began. Alfred's child-like look of excitement and delight simply vanished at the words spoken so tremulously. Matthew hugged the baby close, burying his nose into his wispy white hair.

"I-I-I can't go through w-with this, Al… another baby – Russia's baby. I-I can barely look after Ben as it is! A-and when we finally move b-back to Canada…? I w-won't be able to cope on my own!"

Matthew was trembling. Alfred could see that quite clearly, the vexing incoherent tone of his voice also a dead giveaway. Alfred scooted close enough until he could easily pull Matthew into a hug. Strong slender arms coaxed him deep into his reassuring embrace, patting and rubbing circles in most comforting way he knew how. It was the same way Arthur had done it when he was small and in Alfred's opinion it was the best feeling in the world when the iron claw of distress had you firmly by the throat.

Benjamin whined a complaint, wriggling when the two bodies of the big nations compressed him gradually. Matthew paid no heed to the child's cries as he pushed his face into the crook of his big brother's neck. The tears fell soaking Alfred's warm pale skin and staining the collar of his shirt and bomber jacket, dampening the furry neck. Alfred hushed him. Benjamin's cries were easily overriding all thought, providing enough voice for the three of them. Alfred gathered the baby carefully into one arm and gently placed him beside them, using the sofa cushion to support his small body seeing as his unskilled self wasn't capable of doing it independently. Almost immediately the cries died back down, the tears of at least one of them subsiding.

"G-Gilbert said – hic - he said he was always going to be h-here f-f-for me and the b-baby – hic - " A hand wove through the long blonde hair of the younger, strands of sandy gold twining around comforting fingers.

"Hey, I know, I know. But y'know what? Me and England are always gonna be here. France too," He held Matthew loosely into his chest as he rocked back and forth, finding this whole scenario a little bit strange but also a bit nice as well. It felt good. "Iain's staying too… actually; I think he kinda likes you. Is there somethin' goin' on between you guys~?"

Matthew slowly shook his head, rubbing it against Alfred's shoulder.

"He's nice a-and all, Al… the only thing is… well… hic… he's kinda creepy."

"What? No-way! Iain totally likes you!"

"I know… I-I like him. The th-thing is, not in 'that' way… you know?" Alfred pulled Matthew away from his body, hands grasping his shoulders firmly as they looked into another's eye. Was Alfred trying too hard to keep a straight face?

"Why don't you give him a chance? It's obvious that he wants to be with you," Alfred was trying to push this though much to the emotion-caught Canadian's oblivion. "Unless I'm only getting mixed signals…" He couldn't be too obvious though. He had decided since the idea formed in his head that he couldn't let his brother onto his attempts to hook him up with the Scotsman just to keep him happy and Gilbert out of his head even if only for a little while.

"I-I- hic – don't know, Al…"

"C'mon! Iain use to look after Arthur, didn't he? He can help you to deal with Benny and baby-two."

"Al…"

"If you don't want to talk to him, don't sweat it! I'll be the super awesome hero and talk to him for you!" And if he won't have a choice~, remained unspoken.

Matthew pulled away from his brother, sniffling quietly. He took Benjamin into his arms now that he and the child had calmed down, producing a small green pacifier from his pocket and pressing the nib to the baby's lips.

"W-we-well… oh, I d-don't know, Al…"

"C'mon…! Lemme hook you guys up!"

He seemed to think about it for a moment. It seemed to be quite a selfless proposal… but why was Alfred being so pushy? Ah, who was he kidding? Iain was a nice guy! Protective, firm and with a sweet-side too. And he knew how to deal with children. That was a major plus, right?

Without uttering another word Matthew nodded with a soft smile.

"Okay. Thanks, Al."

* * *

There's nothing more charming than being accused of having worms, especially when you're pregnant =)

The author would like to thank you for your continued support. Your review has been posted.


	11. A Little Talk

**Chapter 10:** **A Little Talk**

**Date:** **18th May, 2013 (May part 3)**

* * *

Arthur had abandoned the kitchen shortly after stepping foot into it. A sudden wave of nausea had seized him – a feeling that was familiar but by no means one that he could get used to. With a groan he began to go upstairs making a mental note to pick-up the sick bucket from the bathroom cupboard on the way up, as well as a heating pad.

It seemed as though Iain wasn't around. Pity, he'd been looking forward to one of his brother's homemade meat broths for lunch. A specialty of his which Arthur rather enjoyed, particularly when his stomach would refuse most other food stuffs.

The box of worming tablets had been stuffed carelessly in a kitchen cupboard full of other sods and odds, between a mug of loose change and some unopened junk mail. He wasn't going to follow some brat-doctor's advice especially considering the fact that he knew he didn't have worms. The thought was just enough to make Arthur seethe and remember why he hated going to the doctors.

Once inside, he closed the door to his bedroom and set about changing back into some pyjamas. He really did feel quite rotten at this time, emotionally and physically and all he wanted to do was have a kip for an hour or two. He was sure his stomach wouldn't miss lunch; certain that it would only pass it back up after a few minutes.

Arthur smoothed a single slim hand over his thickened waistline, bringing it forth over his naval and resting it there. In recent weeks he'd discovered that it was becoming increasingly difficult to sleep or even lay down comfortably. Normally he found sleeping on his belly or curled up on his side in fetal-position to be his most comforting sleeping posture. However, the slight growth in his belly hurt if he happened to lie upon it or apply much pressure to it. He was now made to sleep face-up.

"Knock, knock." A sudden voice and the rapping of knuckles on wood made Arthur look up from his bared stomach. The door eased open with an aged creaked followed by Iain's head appearing. "Lunch is ready downstairs – potato 'n leek soup with a bit of buttered bread on thee side."

"I'm… I'm not hungry… thank you."

"Somehow, I ain't convinced," Iain approached with a swagger in his step. The bed creaked under the added weight of Iain perching himself on the edge of the mattress. "Alright, out with it."

Arthur blinked.

"What're you going on about?"

"Arthur, ye got to be the most stubborn brat I've ever met. Look, I don't know what's goin' through that loony head of yer's but it's startin' ter piss me off. All this moody crap an' refusin' ter eat… it's like being stuck with a bloody child."

The gaze between the brothers became somewhat fiery, offended eyes of the younger narrowing. Arthur was surprisingly the first to break the stare-off – he knew he couldn't win, especially not when he knew Iain could easily land a close-range fist in this position.

The Scotsman grunted with discontent.

"Yer upsettin' Matt and Alfie, ye know. Francis too," He raised a thick red eyebrow. "In fact, Dylan called just now. He said he's not up ter anythin' special so he's gonna be poppin' 'round in a bit."

"Dylan's coming?"

"Aye, that he is. On his way right this second too. He ain't goin' ter be long – just comin' an' goin' to pick up thee paperwork ye din't fax him, he said." A sharp toothy grin tugged at the Scotsman's chapped lips, ebbing somewhere between mischievous and menacing. He sat like that for a moment allowing the news to absorb into his little brother's head.

When he felt like enough time passed the redhead patted Arthur's legs as he stood.

"Alright, that's fine. If yer wanna be a whiny baby fer a bit longer than fine. I'll bring ye a bowl of that soup up in a bit but I ain't having' you bring me an' the lads down."

Arthur diverted his eyes, feeling his toes curl beneath the sheets.

"Y-you don't have to, Iain… hold on, let me just get dressed."

"It's nae bor. But I suggest ye pack all this in by the time Dylan gets here, else there's gonna be some trouble, right?"

Iain turned to take his leave when he held clammy hands grasp at his own, prompting him to turn.

Arthur's cheeks were aglow with a blush that made him look innocent and adorable. His eyes were just a bit too big and watery too – was he about to cry?

"Good Lord, what's wrong with ye now…?" Scotland grumbled, quickly looking away. Arthur's fingers trembled as he dug his blunt nails into Iain's pale and slightly freckled wrist, urging him to stay for just a moment. Neither looked the other in the eye.

"Iain… you don't suppose there's something seriously wrong with me, do you?" Oh God, the whimper in his voice. Iain allowed his eyes to become drawn to Arthur's flushed face.

"Fer the love of… there's nothin' wrong with ye! I don't know what's goin' through that wee head of yer's but ter hell with ye if ye think I'm goin' ter be lettin' ye getta away with it. Yer turning into a right big girl's blouse." He spoke softly but with the obvious croak of frustration present towards the Englishman. He initially felt like grabbing his brother by the shoulders and giving him a violent shaking and proper talking-to.

"Listen, if it'll make ye feel any better I'll take ye back to thee doctors. I don't think it'll do any harm to leave it a few days, so in thee mean time you better buck up, right? At thee moment it's Matt an' Ben we've got ter worry about, an' thee new wee bairn."

When Iain managed to free himself from Arthur's grip he went about unhooking Arthur's dressing gown from the wardrobe and helping him into it to excuse him from needing to get dressed. Then he looped a brotherly arm over his shoulders and guided him downstairs.

* * *

"What's occurring, boyos?"

The four were sat at kitchen/dining room table, chowing down on bowls of creamy potato soup and crusty bread and butter when the Welshman appeared, apparently out of the blue after somehow slipping into the large house without so much as making a peep before loudly announcing his presence.

"Ye tossa. Knock next time, will ye? Nearly gave poor wee Matt a heart attack." Iain told the red chestnut haired man whom stood at the door with a hand on his hip, pointing out the look of shock on Matthew's face. All in all Iain didn't appear too affected by this brief inconvenience and instead took it upon himself to continue slurping away at what was left in his bowl, promptly reaching for seconds when it was gone. Want not, waste not was a saying he was rather fond of although one he only stuck to when he could use it to shame his younger siblings.

Wales held a rather cheerful glimmer in his bright eyes, the colour of unripen almonds. It was rare to see that, especially considering the fall-out he and the Scotsman had had recently over such trivial matters that only could happen between the two brothers.

"I've been waiting on them conference notes, yanno. Decided enough's enough so I came down to nab 'em ma-self," He explained once everything had smoothed down lovely and Dylan had gone to hang up his coat, shoes and cap back out in the foyer. "But then I'm 'alf way down the bleedin' motorway and this wanker calls me. What a right bleedin' palaver, right!" Iain tossed the loud Welshman a cold look.

"Alright, settle down, Taffy. There's a wee bairn takin' a kip in thee next room. Yer gonna wake him." Dylan returned a sheepish smile.

"Ah, sorry." He sat himself down at the table, between Matthew and Arthur and opposite the Scotsman who simply handed him his own bowl and spoon. Automatically Dylan took it and ladled in a hearty helping of the creamy homemade soup.

There was a moment of silence save for the clatter of metal spoons on ceramic dishes, accompanied by the fitting sloshing of the soup.

"So… Canada," Piped the Welshman, dipping a spoon into the soup and holding it readily to his lips. "Scotland tells me you're up the duff again."

Four pairs of eyes became drawn to Matthew. The boy shrunk between squared shoulders as he tried to push his spoonful into his quivering lips. He'd gotten to terms that chances were most of the other nations of the world knew of his present condition. He knew they'd be curious, the men especially, and would ask questions and since he'd already gone through it all before, he'd have to answer them. But it was something he could never really get used to. Even right now he found the whole experience weird.

"I mean, I don't mean to pry or nothin'… but I can't seem to get ma head 'round it. I mean… 'ow's it even possible?"

"Let's not think about the details, Dylan. Leave the lad be an' eat yer soup."

* * *

As soon as lunch was gotten out of the way Matthew was excused without being obligated to clear the table.

He was sat in the living room with Benjamin, the baby enjoying the usual cuddle with his papa which he'd get after every daily feeding.

Ah, who was he kidding? It was still too early to wean Benjamin totally onto bottle formula, and he'd miss the mutual bonding.

Out in the foyer he could hear America, Scotland and Wales talking, their voices made muffled by the thick walls and closed living room door. Even when he strained his ears he couldn't quite make out what was being said but they sounded friendly and within reason.

He giggled into Benjamin's silvery locks, puffing warm air from his nose.

"What d'you think they're saying~?" He asked the child who simply regarded Matthew with big curious eyes. Benjamin reached up to grab a tiny fistful of his papa's sandy hair. With a hysterical giggle of his own he yanked the handful – hard.

"No, no, no, baby… don't do that... you're hurting papa - ow, ow!" He scolded, gently wrapping his fingers around the little fist and easing the palm open until the child released. Matthew smiled weakly. The boy withdrew his arms, squealing gleefully.

In the background the TV was on. A children's program played softly in the background providing a small distraction for the infant.

Parent and child sat watching for a moment. Matthew had found Benjamin's pacifier so they watched the colourful television show. Seeing Benjamin so engrossed in such a simple and silly show made Matthew smile; it made him happy and if Ben was happy then that was all that mattered.

The talking out in the hall eventually ended with the front door closing, Wales calling out loudly, a 'goodbye' before he heard the engine of a banged-up car start outside. But Matthew had zoned out. He was thinking about Gilbert. It was something he'd found himself doing quite a bit since this morning when Alfred had offered to 'hook him up' with Iain, and from what he'd been told just before lunch Alfred had confirmed Iain's agreement.

Giddy from the thought of being with someone again. And this time he was thankful that it wasn't some stranger whom he'd been stuck on a blind date with.

Yet… he felt guilty. In a way he wondered if it was good for Benjamin to be so separated from his father. In a way he felt as though he understood how Benjamin might feel if he never saw Gilbert again – or at least only saw him on occasion. After all, if Francis had been heartbroken when he'd been forced to give the Canadian up, why shouldn't Gilbert feel the same way with his own flesh and blood?

"Maybe I'll just give him a call, eh?"

* * *

**AN:** **I'm pretty sure my writing style has become rather crappy... more or less with some Writer's Block. At some point I think I'm going to try and re-write several parts of this chapter, as well correct any mistakes I've made.**


	12. I Still Love You Too

**Chapter 11:**** I Still Love You Too**

**Date:****18th May, 2013 (May part 4)**

* * *

The little cottage that stood all on its lonesome on the edge of Berlin had been rather peaceful the past few weeks. The usual and often hysterical laughter of one red-eyed Prussian hadn't rung throughout the entire household for a long time, a laughter that told the other occupants of the cottage that either something absolutely hilarious had happened to Austria or some other poor unfortunate, or something more unimaginable had tickled his fancy.

In fact, Gilbert didn't make much note of his presence nowadays; more than often he would lock himself up in his attic room with his laptop, his cell phone, Gilbird and Franziska the cat for entertainment. Then, he'd slink from his domain only for mealtimes and the use of the bathroom several times a day.

When Italy and Germany happened to be in the kitchen, talking whilst the Italian cooked pasta for a late lunch, they hadn't expected to hear Prussia stampede his way down the staircase like a herd of elephants. But then above the noise they heard the phone ring.

"I'm getting it, don't touch it!" Gilbert cried, appearing out in the hallway just in time to see Ludwig pick up the receiver.

"_Guten Tag_. Ludwig speaking."

"I said I'd get it!" Hissed Gilbert through gritted teeth, jumping to his side. It had become a ritual for Gilbert to answer the phone, regardless of whom it was or where he was in the house at the time. Each time Gilbert would hope that it was his Mattie who was calling.

Of course, nearly every time Ludwig or Feliciano beat him to it. And who was he kidding? The call was never for him, so why would this one be different?

"_Ja, ja._ No problem. _Bruder_, it's for you." Gilbert wheeled around, uncrossing his arms.  
"Gimme that!"

The Prussian took no notice of his little brother as he murmured something in their native tongue and wandered back into the kitchen.

He held the receiver close to his face, intently listening down the line. Somewhere he could hear some sort of background noise, probably from a television.

"_J-ja_…? The awesome Gilbert is speaking."

"Gilbert?" The albino froze. "It's me. It's Matthew."

"_Liebe_? H-hold on a moment," He covered the mouth piece of the phone. "West! Are you and Feli out in the kitchen?"

"_Ja_. Vhy?"

"Never mind," Came the reply. He uncovered the mouth piece to the phone. "_Liebe_, can I call you back in like two minutes?"

"I-I guess so."

"Awesome. I'll talk to you in a minute. Love you." Matthew said nothing more so Gilbert hung up quickly. He checked in on Ludwig and Feliciano out in the kitchen to confirm when lunch would be ready before hastily returning to his attic bedroom.

Franziska purred affectionately upon the return of his master, sidling up beside him when the Prussian threw himself onto the bed, nearly sending his laptop flying. When he found his cell phone underneath the bed he went about dialling Arthur's house phone.

Before it even rang twice the phone on the other line was picked up.

"Gilbert?"

"Sorry about that,_ liebe_. I didn't want West or Feli interrupting," He licked his lips, staring intently ahead as though he were actually looking at the Canadian.

"What's up?"

Matthew took a deep breath. Why was Gilbert being so nice and calm even when he'd hung up on him so many times?

"I… well… I just wanted to apologise, Gilbert… I mean, I know you wanted to talk before and, well, I was completely out of order."

"…_Liebe_, you don't need to apologise. It's okay, really."

"No, it's not okay! Gil, I don't want Benjamin to be without his daddy. It's not fair on him, or you for that matter."

Gilbert flashed the white cat beside him a wide look. He flipped himself so that he was lying face-up on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Franziska needed no invite to plop himself on the chest of the ex-nation, Gilbird also appearing out of nowhere to perch himself onto the man's head.

"So…"

"So I was thinking that maybe you'd like to come over soon. Y'know, just to spend some time with Ben." On the other end, Matthew clutched his child in one arm whilst his grip on the receiver tightened.

"_J-ja_! That'd be awesome! _Und liebe_ - your birthday's coming up soon, right? In a couple of months? Maybe we could spend the night together and celebrate with the others and Benny!"

"That sounds great and all Gil, but I can't. I'm still pregnant, remember? And by the time July comes around I'll nearly be at the end of the second trimester... and I'm gonna be big."

Ah. Of course. The baby, the baby. The baby that _wasn't_ his. _Russia's_ baby.

Still, Gilbert couldn't bear to be nasty. He'd finally accepted that perhaps Matthew hadn't slept with Ivan out of pure need to be touched and rather that he'd done it out of fear like he'd told him. And for that Gilbert decided that he wouldn't hate Matthew for that; he couldn't hate him or the child.

"I'm really fucking proud of you, you know that? For keeping the baby," Gilbert bit at his lip as his last futile attempt to keep the tears from cascading down his plump milky cheeks. "You're an angel. To be honest if were in your position I'd probably try to abort it. I mean, I bet you if it'd happen to anyone else they'd want to get rid of it."

"Gil… are you crying?"

"Don't laugh… but _ja_. Only a little bit though."

Gilbert was glad that he'd retreated back to the attic. Matthew was the only person whom he could trust to be around in order to shed a tear or two without insult. There was Ludwig too… but to be honest the macho blonde wasn't really the sort to be that kind of compassionate.

"Hey, _liebe_, can I ask you something?"

"S-sure."

"Do you still love me?"

After a lengthy pause Matthew let out a soft laugh. "Yes, of course – you don't think otherwise, do you?" Then he amended his answer after a moment's reconsideration.

"_Und_ you mean that?"

"I wouldn't say it if it wasn't true Gilbert." Matthew reassured him. He glanced down at their son who had drifted to sleep in his arm. Every now and again he sucked subconsciously on the pacifier in his mouth with a soft babyish moan, turning inwards to the inviting warmth and security that Matthew provided so readily to his beautiful child.

"Benjamin looks so cute just now. I want you to come and see him soon, before he's all grown up."

"If that's code for 'I want to be back with my awesome boyfriend' then I'll take it. Mattie, I know I've been pestering you for ages now about it, but please can we get back together?"

"I think that's going to be a bit difficult, Gil…"

As anyone might be in his situation, Gilbert had felt excitement pool in the pit of his stomach, spreading a feeling of warmth and joy at the sound of his love's voice and words.

But at the moment Gilbert's heart was still rather frail, susceptible to break at any point.

"What're you talking about? _Liebe_, what's wrong?"

"I… well… you see, Gilbert… I'm kind of already going out with someone…"

At that the first crack appeared on the surface of Gilbert's heart. Gilbert swallowed and then responded almost despondently.

"It's just that, well, Alfred set me up with him… h-he said he really liked me…" Matthew hurriedly tried to explain, breath hitching as he spoke.

"Who's 'he'?"

"I-it's Iain – Scotland. Y-you're not angry are you, G-Gil? I know you don't exactly get on well with him..." _But who does?_ Remained unspoken.

"…_Nein_. Not at all." Not angry but dearly upset.

There was another silence. This one was longer and obviously logged with feelings. Maybe Matthew could hear the heartbreak in his voice.

"…You can still come and see Benjamin whenever you want. We both really want to see you again real soon, eh."

"_Ja_, okay Mattie," He pulled his cell away for a moment to rub his eyes with the back of his wrist. "Look… I should be going now. Feli's nearly got lunch ready. Talk to you later."

"Oh. Okay then. Goodbye Gil."

"Bye. Love ya." Before Matthew could respond, the line went dead. His hopes that Gilbert was actually still there were broken when the monotone drone of the line told Matthew that it was finally time to put the phone down, which he did with a jolted hiccup and watery eyes.

_Well, at least he knows now…_ Matthew reasoned quietly. He hadn't noticed the tall man with the blazing red hair and luminous emerald eyes had been watching from the door for a while now. When Iain uncrossed his arms and walked to sit himself on the couch opposite he simply coiled an arm around Matthew's shoulders and pulled him close. No eye contact was made beyond the odd glance from the Scotsman as he tried his best (with minimal effort) to sooth the teary boy.

* * *

**AN:**** Originally this was just an extended part of Chapter 10. But after some debate I cut this end bit out in order to extend it beyond 500 words and made it into it's very own chapter. To be fair I planned on posting this chapter same day I put up Chap 10 but I was feeling lazy and put it off ^^**


	13. Bloodtests

**Chapter 12:**** Bloodtests**

**Date: ****19th May, 2013 (May part 5)**

* * *

Arthur had set up another appointment with Doctor Thompson. He'd strongly insisted that he was to be seen to as soon as possible but that the doc would have to come over to their house instead. He'd been rather adamant at that, particularly with the easily exhausted Matthew needing a check-up himself.

Iain had discovered the box of worming tablets hidden away in the kitchen cupboard with a prescription note attached that had Arthur's name printed on. All he'd done was raise a hairy red eyebrow in curiosity before promptly chucking them in the trash. He knew damn well his brother wouldn't be carrying filthy little parasites – hell, even if he did he'd force half a dozen cloves of garlic down his throat to get rid of the little buggers!

Arthur was still vomiting horribly in the mornings; if it wasn't the sound of his retching that woke Alfred then it was the clumsy scramble to rush to the ensuite every morning that did. A cup of hot milky tea to sooth his burning throat and a cuddle usually helped to put things right in the end.

They were waiting on Thompson's arrival. Breakfast was postponed until ten-thirty, just in case a blood sample from Arthur was needed to help discover the cause of his odd symptoms. Matthew was up in his own room trying to catch up on his sleep whilst new boyfriend Iain watched the baby.

Benjamin had cried relentlessly the previous night, waking nearly every hour after what Matthew assumed to just be a very mild case of colic. He was feeling a little bit better now but Matthew was still in need of a good sleep.

Across the landing Arthur was sitting up in bed reading a book with Alfred popping in occasionally to see if he wanted something. Then he'd disappear back downstairs to play some more on his Xbox. Alfred had insisted that Arthur keep an Xbox at both his main homes in the country and inner-city London just for the times when he came to stay. It provided the American with something to do and kept the Englishman from getting any complaints of boredom.

Once Arthur was settled with a glass of water Alfred returned to playing his games. The only thing missing was Tony. The alien friend of his was back at home taking care of everything else. Occasionally they chatted using the computer or if the other was on the Xbox they played. But it wasn't the same. Matthew use to play with him too but that was obviously out of the question.

He mashed the buttons of his console down in rapid and skilled succession but with no mind to what he was really doing. Arthur was on his mind. Lately the usual romance – hugging, kissing, even sex – was minimal at best. The Brit had admitted to feeling embarrassed about his pot belly and sickliness and so profoundly refused to get too involved in anything too touchy-feely. In a way Alfred felt as though he understood what Arthur was feeling, or so he tried to believe, so the self-proclaimed hero decided not to push anything. When he could he'd give a swift peck on the cheek. When Arthur allowed it he'd throw his arms around the Brit's chest for a quick hug. But even the hero knew he was treading too far when he asked for something more.

When there was a brisk knocking on the door it was Iain who answered. He was doing well to hold Benjamin in one arm, a bottle in the other as he opened the door. The Scotsman also happened to be preparing a big lunch for after the doctor left so his clothes and apron were indeed a bit of a mess with flour sprinkled here and there, what looked like a gob of butter there and an egg yolk stain quite obviously there on his trousers.

Doctor Thompson stood there looking quite unimpressed. Anyone would've guessed that Iain was the mother here. The gruff Scotsman took a moment to register the odd look from the doctor before he licked his lips and contorted them into a crooked smile.

"So yer thee useless prick who thinks me brother's got thee worms?" Thompson's eyes narrowed. Oh God, he was one of these types, was he?

"Yes sir… I am England's doctor, Doctor Mitchel Thompson. Is it safe to assume you're his older brother, Scotland?"

"Aye, that's right. Yer… yer a bit young, ain't ye? Tell me lad, are ye qualified?"

An insult was one thing but the questioning to his qualifications was another.

"I'll have you know, sir, I studied at Oxford. If I wasn't one of the finest doctors around I wouldn't have been hand-picked to become a Nation doctor."

"That's a funny accent ye got there, lad. Where ye from? Sounds like Cockney or Devonish or somethin'."

"Sir, I'll ask that you don't ask any more personal questions about myself," He stepped through the door when Iain finally gestured for him to. "Where's England? Seeing as he was so unsatisfied with my diagnosis the other day I'd like to see him first."

"S'not a diagnosis if all ye do is give his belly a quick poke an' ask some pretty shallow questions."

The Scotsman kicked the door shut. Alfred popped his head around the living room door.

"Hey, is that the doc?" He called over, the voices summoning him at once.

"Aye, it's him. Run him upstairs, will ye? I need t' check thee dumplings."

So the two nations swapped roles, one dispersing back to the kitchen while the other led the visitor upstairs to the first bedroom where England was waiting.

Arthur's eyes didn't even move his in the romance novel he read for fear that he'd suddenly lose his paragraph. It was getting to the story's climax, he was certain, the long-awaited moment he'd been anticipating since the very start. It was only when he finished the page and heard a third knocking and Alfred requesting permission to enter that he finally put the book down on the bedside table.

"Come in." He called simply, irritated.

The door swung on open and in walked Alfred and Thompson.

"Hello England. You're looking well."

"Was that supposed to be sarcasm, doctor? I've dealt with enough of your arrogant shit before, thank you very much, so I'd very much like it if you could leave it out and get on with today's check-up."

The doctor arched an unimpressed eyebrow. All of his snide remarks and choice selection of words that he was so eager to throw back died on the tip of his tongue when he saw how awful England looked.

The small Englishman's skin had taken on slight shine, damp with perspiration. Several thick strands of darker blonde fringe were slick against his forehead whilst the rest stuck up in uneven tufts all over his head. His skin had taken on a slightly darker pinkie hue, particularly around his nose, eyes and cheeks, which were prominent and rosy.

As Thompson approached with his medical bag for a better look he could also see that despite look God-awfully skinny England was retaining something of a belly beneath his pyjama shirt.

The doctor began by rubbing some disinfectant gel into his palms before probing deeper into his bag of instruments for something else. After pulling out a stethoscope he turned to Alfred.

"I'm sorry sir, but if you could please leave the room? I'd like it if England and I could have some privacy whilst I carry out a few tests."

Alfred looked to Arthur who merely returned the look with eyes dulled after weeks of vomiting, restless nights and under-eating. Alfred nodded quietly and took his leave.

Arthur was put through a series of tests as Alfred had been told. Amongst them Arthur had had his pulsed and heart beat checked, recorded, his eyes, mouth, nose and ears examined for any signs of inflammation or swelling and internal temperature checked. Then he was thoroughly questioned.

Frankly, the inexperienced young doctor was baffled to find that on closer inspection he was entirely sure what was wrong exactly. Arthur admitted to stomach cramps which explained his need to grapple at his stomach, though Thompson only thought it natural considering his poor diet. That was taken as Arthur's neglected stomach simply begging to be satisfied rather than punished.

"You've haven't eaten then?" The doctor spoke softly, sympathetically even, at the end of it all half an hour later.

Arthur shook his head slowly. "No, I have but not much. Although it's only the mornings I actually vomit in the queasiness lasts most of the day and worsens whenever I eat."

Thompson put his equipment away as they spoke.

"You really should try to eat something, even if you dislike the feeling of being sick. Making yourself go hungry won't make it go away, and if anything it's the cause of the cramps."

Arthur suppressed a whimper as he climbed back into his bed, relishing the coolness of the bed sheets on his warm, flushed skin. He slipped down beneath the duvet, pulling the pillows down to rest until he felt long fingers gently pull at his wrist.

"Before you bed back down, England, I'd like to just take a blood sample for analysis," He turned to retrieve a syringe from his bag. "If it is something serious I'd like to have it confirmed so we can come up with the best solution to the problem as soon as possible. Is that alright?"

In a normal situation Arthur would stubbornly refuse the option of having a sharp needle pierce his skin – there was no way. But he felt that if he didn't the doctor could very well overpower him in his weakened state.

He gave a nod of consent and reluctantly presented the required limb for the sampling. When it was all done, the blood sample was packed away and the pinprick wound dabbed and stressed. Arthur's arm stung where the needle had entered. His opinion on them would never change.

From that point on Arthur was allowed to settle back down, a pain look scrawled on his plump rosy cheeks and half-lidded eyes. The doctor's lips twitched until a vague sort of smile was formed. He resisted the urge to pet his head comfortingly and to offer sweet words in hopes of soothing his nerves. Although this England-chap looked to be younger than him, Thompson found it very hard to believe that this man was well over eight hundred years of age. He looked so young – it was difficult not to speak to him like a youngling.

He held the decency to make sure Arthur had settled properly before taking his leave. If it was some sort of awful illness that could be detected via blood Thompson wanted to collect a sample from everyone the English nation had come into contact with most recently and have them all tested.

Quietly he exited the room and closed the door behind.

"How's me brother fairin'?" Iain was standing at the bottom of the stairs when Thompson descended at an easy pace.

"I hadn't realised he was like this, Scotland."

"Fer fuck sake, just call me Iain. Don't be so formal."

"Right… well, Iain… I'd like to inform you that despite the symptoms, I don't think England-"

"Arthur."

"-Has any sort of serious ailments. Frankly I think he's just making it worse for himself by persistently not eating." He whipped the corked vile of blood from his bag to show the Scotsman.

"As you can see, I've taken a sample of his blood to have analysed. I'd also like to take some from yourself, America, Canada, Benjamin and anyone who's had recent prolonged contact with you lot in the past week or so."

Iain, who was still cradling the infantile Benjamin in one bowed arm stared blanks at the little man before him.

"Dylan was only here yesterday. I could give 'em a ring an' tell him t' get his arse over."

"No worries, sir. I'll send an email to his doctor and have them send a sample over. If Wales was only here for a bit then I don't think he's accountable for this." Iain nodded, apparently in understanding of the moment. He glanced down at the resting Benjamin who lay blissfully unaware of the doctor and his intentions with the needle. The little one wouldn't appreciate being bothered from his sleep only to be sharply punctured in the arm. Iain held him close against his chest, one hand beneath and the other gently rubbing the back of his head. The old Scot seemed deep in thought, chewing on his bottom lip.

After a bit of consideration concerning what to do Iain came to an appropriate conclusion. He led the doctor into the living room where Alfred was still playing his Xbox with an anxious expression. Iain sat himself down on the couch, propping Benjamin beside him. In one swift motion he yanked up the sleeve of his blue uniform jacket to expose the pale freckled flesh of his upper arm beneath.

"Alright, get it over with. An' don't drag it on fer any longer than ye have t'."

"If you insist."

America, Scotland and Benjamin soon all had their blood taken, resulting in the silver-haired baby crying buckets. The little band-aid on his arm wasn't enough to convince him that it was all over now. Trying to rock the infant to sleep didn't work nor did whispering words of 'comfort' either. In fact it seemed make matters a whole lot worse as the cries went up tenfold.

Loud enough to summon Canada from the guest room. A look of flustered worry had taken over his face, Iain able to tell that he'd gotten up in a rush for his glasses were missing from their usual spot on his nose and the fact that he was scruffily dressed in drawstring pyjama pants was a dead giveaway.

He found Iain and Benjamin along with Doctor Thompson and Alfred together in the living room. Matthew stopped in the doorway, clutching the frame with slender fingers, and popped his head around to view his family in the room. It was only a matter of seconds before he realised that he was applying a little more pressure to his rounded abdomen than what was good for him, so he moved into the room itself.

"What's wrong? What happened? Is Ben okay?" Alfred stood, putting a reassuring arm over his brother's shoulders.

"It's cool, nothing's wrong, bro." Alfred explained what had happened as well as the need for the blood tests, some corrections then added and made by the doctor. Meanwhile Matthew was helped to sit down next to Iain on the couch. He took Benjamin from the arms of his boyfriend and into his own.

Matthew hummed softly in Benjamin's ear, teasing the platinum locks with his fingers. When he was born Benjamin's hair had been almost pure-white and feather-soft. But of course, five months down the line it was only natural for the child's hair to darken with age, even if just by a little bit. Matthew wondered if Benjamin's hair would remain like Gilbert's – pale and straight - or if it would eventually grow to look like his – blonder and wavy. It was difficult to tell at the moment.

Doctor Thompson was patiently kneeling on the floor, preparing the final syringe for Matthew. Alfred had left, saying he was going to check on Arthur but Matthew could see right through the excuse to get away from the obnoxious infantile cries of his nephew.

Luckily for the three adults left behind Benjamin eventually calmed down. Matthew wiped the remaining tears away with a thumb. Iain offered to take Benjamin whilst Thompson took the blood. Matthew had proved that there was no need, balancing a tired and teasy Benjamin on his lap with one arm.

Why did a task so small have to end with being so painful? Matthew cringed with a small whimper when Thompson fiddled with the needle, the sensation of it being pulled and wriggled into the vein of his inner left arm. When the needle was withdrawn with a good sample of the crimson red, Matthew exhaled, glad to be relieved from the discomfort. He hated needles. Sometimes he wished for a way around them or better still, a way to avoid them altogether.

"I'll try to have the results for you by the morning. I shan't bother you by coming back over but I will ring the landline." Iain patted Matthew's back as he stood. The doc was packing up looking as though he was wanting to leave sometime soon so the Scotsman decided it would be the time to escort him to the door. A single arm was used to guide him out to the foyer of the mansion.

"That sounds marvellous." Sighed Iain, nodding nonchalantly to all that was being said. In one ear, out the other.

"Lovely. I'll see you lot another time then," Thompson said. "Goodbye then, Scotland."

"Bye, lad."

Iain returned to find that Matthew and Benjamin were gone. A bit of scouting around led Iain to discovering that they were in the dining room. Matthew was just seating the boy in his high chair ready for the lunch that Iain had warming in the kitchen.

"Sit yerself down, pett, an' I'll see what thee other two are up t'." Matthew put his arms around Iain's broad chest and hugged him. Iain turned his head away at a slight angle. He asked himself why he allowed himself to be controlled by Alfred's money. Matthew seemed like he was perfectly happy – besides, why couldn't he get back with Gilbert? Surely the ex-nation wasn't so childish that he would persist to act so immaturely. At some point Iain was certain Gilbert would step up to his responsibilities. Living with the guilt of kindling a false relationship just to keep Matthew happy was beginning to unnerve him. And only recently Iain had proposed the idea of sharing a bed (but he'd told himself that sex was a no-no) not that it was his idea. For his reward Alfred added another ten bucks to the regular bribe.

He shyly kissed the top of Matthew's head and touched it lightly with his finger tips to tell him to let go. Matthew did so, turning to finish tending to Benjamin.

"Will you get Ben's stuffed dog for him? It's in our room."

"No worries, pett."

* * *

**Date: 20****th May, 2013**

* * *

The rest of the previous day went smoothly with the exception of a late-night incident involving Arthur that resulted in a bit of emotional distress for both himself and Matthew which was resolved by putting both to bed early.

When morning came the usual routine was followed: Iain cooked breakfast, everyone bathed or showered and then whilst Arthur rested in Al's arms in front of the television, Iain took a warmly wrapped Matthew and Ben out onto the land for a walk through the patch of woodland that skirted the property. They had a lovely time, collecting sticks and branches for the fireplace and eating wild strawberries (Matthew had found himself craving something sweet) before returning to the house for lunch.

The phone rang in the living room just as they hung up their coats and scarves. Arthur answered it. Matthew took Benjamin straight in to see his uncles as well as to see who was calling. He was expecting one from Gilbert, after all. For a few minutes Arthur and the caller bantered, Arthur making no direct point to what they were talking about. Matthew asked whom it was until Arthur motioned for him to leave him alone with his hand.

Arthur suddenly looked grave. He answered the caller hoarsely.

"Oh."


	14. Arthur 'Bucks Up'

**Chapter 13: ****Arthur 'Bucks Up'**

**Date:**** 19th May, 2013 (May part 6)**

* * *

"What's wrong? What's wrong? What's wrong?" Alfred was impatiently jabbing Arthur's shoulder with two fingers. Arthur had gone so pale all of a sudden and he wondered why. There was a bit of a silence as Arthur sat with pursed lips and staring green eyes. Matthew perched himself on the arm of the chair, Benjamin cooing.

What's happening? He mouthed to his brother who simply rolled his shoulders in a shrug in response. It was understandable, Matthew supposed.

"I-I see… Th-thank you, doctor. Y-yes of course. Goodbye-"

"Hello?! Yeah, what the hell's goin' on?"

"Alfred!" Arthur had been about to hang up when Alfred snatched the receiver and began furiously talking down it.

Matthew touched Arthur's shoulder, worried. The Brit's flushed face was contorted into something that Matthew could only describe as being both upset and… puzzled. Arthur pressed against the sofa with a hand clawed to his stomach.

"Arthur, what's wrong?"

"Jerk-off hung up on me!" The American slammed the receiver down, slouching back down after.

Arthur was shaking his head, shaking as though he had a thought that he just wanted to rid himself of.

"I-I'm g-going to b-bed." He stammered as he stood quite suddenly with clenched fists.

"You're not going anywhere until you tell me what the doc said!" Alfred grasped his hand and dealt it a tug whilst motioning for him to sit back down. Because Alfred had learnt that even holding hands could be painful if he applied his full strength, his hold was but a feather-touch. So Arthur easily took advantage, slipping his hand free and sharply bringing it to his chest.

"It's nothing to be c-concerned about…! At least not for now…" Arthur hurried from the room before Alfred or Matthew had a hope of stopping him. Iain appeared in the doorway wiping his hands on a red checked tea towel.

"What thee hell was that all about?" He asked, flipping the towel over his shoulder and crossing his arms. He'd abandoned his blue white-crossed jacket so that he only wore his long-sleeve shirt underneath. The sleeves were rolled up and glistened with wetness leading Matthew to believe he'd just been washing the dishes. That was one of the nice things about the handsome Scot. He was more than happy to pitch in with the housework seeing as Alfred's input was minimal. Iain insisted that Matthew needn't worry about cleaning or cooking so he was off the hook. Then there was Arthur… It was agreed that whilst Matthew was pregnant and living there the Brit wouldn't be allowed to step foot in the kitchen, period. Matthew did feel a little bit guilty though. Sometimes he'd slip in to tidy the draining board or cook breakfast until Iain found him. A light scolding was usually in order not that it made Matthew feel any sorrier. Only more useless.

"I don't know. The phone rang, Arthur answered it then he just went all pale-like and said nothin' about it."

Iain raked a damp pruny hand through his thick red hair. "He's upstairs, is he?"

"Yeah, I guess so. Why?"

"Because," The Scotsman turned for the staircase that sat opposite the cosy living room. "He's goin' t' be gettin' a bloody ear-full, I'm tellin' you! That wee shit is startin' t' piss me off!" And off he marched.

* * *

_"Hello? Arthur Kirkland speaking, who's this?"_

_"Ah, good morning England. I trust you're well? Doctor Thompson speaking. I saw you yesterday?"_

_"Oh, yes, of course."_

_"Lovely. Now England, if I may ask, did you experience any more vomiting this morning?"_

_"No, not this morning, thank God. Still feeling rather under the weather, I'm afraid."_

_"I see. Well, actually the reason I called is because I have the results of all of your blood tests."_

_"Really? Is there, erm, any cause for concern?"_

_"Well, Canada, Scotland, America and Benjamin are all fine, no real cause for alarm."_

_"… Christ, there's something wrong with me, isn't there?"_

_"It all depends on how you view it, sir. You see, after running a few tests I'm glad to say that you're not harbouring any horrible life-threatening illnesses or diseases – thankfully. But I do suggest you start eating, I really do. In fact, for the time being try doubling your usual rations."_

_"What do you mean?"_

_"According to the blood test – which I might add is usually 98% accurate – you're pregnant. And on top of that, about fifteen weeks along, give or take a day or two."_

_"Oh."_

* * *

Iain didn't have to spend much time looking for his brother. The door to the master bedroom was invitingly left open so Iain entered. He stepped over the carpet quietly, heel first with his toes following suit. There was a curious lump in the middle of the bed, one that somehow reminded Iain of the one that could be found on Matthew's stomach. Iain kept his breathing controlled and movements soft until he reached the bedside. He bent down into a crouch with an arm resting on each leg. He observed the lump in the bed sheets for a second longer before taking the sheets in one large hand and swiftly tugging them off.

"I don't know what yer fuckin' playin' at ye selfish piece of shit but whatever it ye better buck yer ideas up unless you want me t' take thee lads t' Scotland with me until ye do. Otherwise yer never too old t' go over me knee, so tell what's up with ye." Arthur was curled on his side, back to Iain. He made little lethargic movements but remained quiet as a mouse. Every now and again he sniffled but made no actual attempt to answer with words.

"If yer not goin' t' tell me what's wrong, I ain't helpin'!" The bed sheet was carelessly thrown back over Arthur's rigid body following with the frustrated elder brother to take his leave, the bedroom door slamming behind. "An' don't bother comin' down fer lunch until ye've sorted yerself out, alright? Fuckin' brat!"

Alfred was waiting at the foot of the stairs with Matthew and Benjamin. The look of thunder upon Iain's face told the brothers to step aside when the redhead came flying down the stairs and into the kitchen, thankfully without even looking up. Matthew touched Alfred's shoulder. He already turned to go after Iain – maybe he could calm him down. Alfred called after his vulnerable brother with stern words of caution before he ascended the stairs, he too in search of his partner.

* * *

"Hey now, what's up?" Arthur was still hunched beneath the covers. Alfred peeled them back to uncover him, wrapping muscular arms around his armpits to drag the stubborn Brit onto his lap like a ragdoll.

Arthur moaned in his usual protest though unusually he turned into Alfred, butting the underneath of Alfred's jaw with the crown of his head. Alfred wrapped an arm around Arthur to keep him in place, using the other to cup and hold his cheek. From that hand he slipped his pinky finger beneath Arthur's chin to tilt his head up. Azure blue met the wet mossy green of Arthur's age-old eyes. Were those beads of sweat or tears dripping down his face?

The light was hitting Arthur just perfectly. Alfred could see the shadows and contours of Arthur's smooth features, the strong expression that his eyebrows portrayed doubled with the downturned smile on his lips giving him an air of childish innocence.

"You're so adorable with that face, y'know."

"Can't you say something more sensible?" Came the sniffy reply. Alfred let a little grin slip. He pulled away the hand that held and kept Arthur's cheek and lifted the index finger, wagging it in a typical disciplinary manner.

"I'm only calling it as I see it. Besides, you're always going at me about how bad it is to lie."

"You're sparing my feelings, is what it is. I look bloody awful."

Alfred didn't really expect Arthur to go onto saying how bad he looked – there was no need for him to point it out. But the American couldn't disagree; he did look a mess with the worse-than-usual unkept hair and the patches of darker pink pigment doubled onto his sickly white colour that seemed to contrast in a sick but pretty sort of way. Then there was the vague smell of stale vomit that seemed to just hang over him like a dead horse.

But Alfred was willing to look past that for the man he loved most. In the evening he'd see if Arthur would be in the mood for a long hot bath and popcorn to one of Alfred's latest action movies. That would be nice and just maybe he could get a smile and a kiss before bed.

Alfred chuckled with hearty warmth lacing his voice, placing the hand back in place upon Arthur's head to ruffle the hair. Arthur pushed the side of his head up against the base of Alfred's throat so that his cheek rested flatly along the ridge of his collarbone. Small thin fingers clutched at the younger man's shirt.

If there was one thing Alfred had learnt when he'd started to date Arthur, it was not to pry into something in which he had no business with. He'd also learnt that unless he did ask and pry he would not learn anything more than he did to begin with. Another thing he'd realised was that everything was his business if he made it so.

They sat like that for about ten minutes more, Arthur hunched on Alfred's lap in what the latter could only describe as a form of comfort for the older man.

"Are you gonna tell me what's up yet?" No response. So Alfred ran his fingers through the sweat-damp hair of his lover. It didn't really surprise him when he found a tangle here and there. Arthur really hadn't been looking after himself lately.

There was another minute of silence. Then Alfred manoeuvred his arms over Arthur's small body until he had him pressed tightly to his broad chest, carried bridal style.

"Let's grab a bath, 'kay? Maybe you'll feel better to talk then." And off to the ensuite the Brit was whisked.

* * *

An eerie white steam seeped through the crack beneath the locked bathroom door and spread out to the lower levels of the bedroom shrouding it like a morning harbour fog. The bathtub was being filled, the faucet gushing out mercilessly hot water that pounded against the unmarked ceramic of the tub.

Bubbly foam rose up from the scolding liquid. Alfred leaned over the steamy water with an elbow propping him up as he poured the thick pastel-pink liquid from a bottle of rather expensive bubble bath.

Arthur sat crouched on the closed lid of the toilet sit just opposite from the tub and Alfred, a single fluffy towel wrapped over his shoulders like a shawl. His clothes were folded and hung over the radiator to warm up for when he got out, for Arthur knew it'd be cold at first upon stepping out of the warmth of the bath water.

Alfred alternated between the hot and cold tap until the water was a comfortable tepid. Arthur was the first to enter the lovely, bubbly water, helped in by Alfred who in turn discarded his clothes and glasses left in a messier manner before joining him. Strong arms slipped beneath Arthur's pulling him back into Alfred's chest as they sank back into the water, a sigh of contentment on their lips.

Although Alfred would never admit it he did enjoy baths. The sensation of simply lying back in the great oblong tub filled to the brink with sweet-smelling bubbles and bath supplements was rather nice. He did find it somewhat more relaxing than having a quick in-and-out flash in the shower, and perhaps a great deal safer in some respect, for he sometimes worried that he might do something stupid and cliché like slipping on a dropped bar of soap. Baths were nice on occasion but really they weren't nearly as nice if he didn't have Arthur to share them with.

There was a pink washcloth on a stainless steel frame rack that was hooked to the outer side of the bathtub. Things like flannels, soaps and even a little rubber duck (for when Sealand visited) could be found in it. Alfred took out the pink flannel, dunked it into the warm soapy water and proceeded to wring it out over Arthur's head using one arm to support his body which looked too frail and too thin to be possible considered healthy. Alfred was glad that his boyfriend couldn't see the frown that was beginning to span across his face, a large hand tracing where Arthur's ribs could be felt though not yet scene. The only part of Arthur's body that looked even remotely well was the small belly he had that showed a tiny bump. The hand came to rest over Arthur's bellybutton whilst the other armed with the wet flannel began to wipe the sweat from Arthur's cheeks and brow.

"When we're done let's get lunch." A little nod followed much to Alfred's delight, erasing a little bit of the frown on his lips and raising his eyebrows from a frown. He hated that Arthur had been refusing to eat in fear of provoking his strange illness. It was bad enough that Arthur was a bit of a picky eater, the last thing anyone needed was him refusing nutrition altogether.

Arthur just looked so weak. There was no fight in him; Alfred found that he was about as easy as a marionette to manipulate. His limbs would go limp at the touch, his body so easy for anyone to try taking advantage of. Not that Al would dare to try that unless he wanted his self-acclaimed title as 'hero' to be replaced as 'villain'. And besides – with Francis currently out of the picture and Iain at the end of his tether, he decided it was up to him now to try and nurse Arthur back to health.

Alfred calloused damp locks with his fingers. He allowed his digits to twirl and wrap themselves around the strands, pulling, teasing and then releasing the hair before he accidently plucked any out.

Arthur simply obeyed to these affections, snuggling up against the smooth slick flat of Alfred's chest and 'squishy' belly. Honestly, Arthur could never work out how a man who ate so much junk food could have such a flat but spongy belly! In the end though, he did make for a nice pillow at night. And as long as his favourite man-pillow was alive, well and heart-disease free, Arthur was happy.

They weren't certain how long they'd been soaking in the tub with each other but soon enough they heard Iain's angry voice outside the door, a sharp knocking prequel.

"Are ye bastards done yet? Hurry thee hell up with whatever ye doin' an' get yer asses downstairs! Lunch is ready an' we're starvin'!"

So the two hurried out of the tub, dried off quickly and got dressed again – Arthur pulling on the radiator-warmed shirt, knitted vest and trousers and Alfred his floor-thrown bomber jacket, jeans and t-shirt. Then they made their way downstairs hand-in-hand.

* * *

Lunch was the usual spread – stacks of sweet-savoury drop-scones (or pancakes as Matthew persistently called) with butter and maple syrup, along with a large platter of assorted chicken, cheese and jam sandwiches and a huge bowl of mixed fruit with pots of yogurt for afters.

Iain seemed to be in a better mood as he arrived with the drinks – the usual cup of tea for himself and Arthur, milk for Matthew and orange juice for Alfred. Alfred could only assume that Matthew's promised work of calming the man down had worked for Iain was all smiles when they arrived into the dining room and sat down. Matthew had Benjamin sat in his high chair. The little plastic table on the chair was hammered by tiny excitable fists as Matthew, armed with a small glass jar and a plastic spoon, fed a strange yellow jelly-like substance to the baby. A bottle of formula also sat close though Matthew was certain it'd stay untouched.

Arthur was assumed to only nibble on a sandwich or take a miniscule bite of drop-scone as he usually did. But it came to a great shock to his family when he polished off half the plate of sandwiches and had two helpings of fruit salad with yogurt. But he didn't touch his tea. Not in the mood for it, he said.

Iain excused himself as he left for the kitchen again with the sandwich plate, returning minutes later with a few more round and a glass of orange juice for Arthur who said he fancied a cold drink instead.

When Benjamin had eaten his fill of applesauce baby food and half a bottle of formula Matthew was happy to excuse himself momentarily whilst he took the child upstairs for a nap. When he arrived back into the room he found the others were quietly conversing. As he went to pass Iain he felt a strong arm hook gently around his waist and the harsh squeak of a chair. Before he knew it Matthew was sitting on Iain's lap, two hands that weren't his held him steady by resting over the tops of his thighs.

Alfred took a sip of juice. He had to admit, Iain was certainly doing a job worthy of his money.

"What're talking about?" Asked Matthew in a perfectly innocent way. Alfred's gaze snapped back to his brother and softened back to their usual sky-blue warmth.

"Ah, y'know, just stuff about next month's meeting. They had to cancel this month's one 'cause the conference hall in Stockholm's apparently under some sort of construction. Sweden called everyone to let us know."

"So the next time Germany said he'll be holding it in Berlin." Arthur replied, swallowing the last of his drink. Immediately Matthew's attention was snagged and drawn. To him, even the mention of Germany or Berlin was enough to conjure up images of Gilbert and the strong smell of seasoned wurst and beer. A smell he'd learnt to love but because of the change of life's circumstances it was a smell he'd nearly forgotten entirely, replaced by the stale stench of smoke and whiskey.

"We're… staying at Germany's…?" Matthew sounded just a little bit hopeful. Alfred caught Iain's eye, catching the flash of bother that reflected in the pools of green.

"Nah. There's a hotel down the block from the conference place. It's supposed to only be a twenty minute cab drive from the airport, so we'll be okay for travel! I'll get the hotel booked a week or so beforehand. And I'll be sure to get us rooms with king-sized beds, plasma-screens and crap loads of room service and free food!"

"Free food?"

Matthew couldn't help but giggle. His brother's enthusiasm with visiting fancy hotels was always a plus when it came to travelling with Alfred. He remembered several years back when they'd stayed in a room together during a conference in Chicago. Before they checked out Alfred had left the room a pig-sty with cookie and doughnut boxes, soda cans and bottles, potato chip packets and read comic books littering the floors and beds. Then, for the hell of it and simply out of devilish temptation he'd nicked the free soaps and shampoos from the bathroom.

Iain grunted softly. He lightly touched Matthew's belly coyly, brushing his fingertips over the soft flesh. He'd only very recently gotten use to touching Matthew like this, finding it a little embarrassing. If Iain was perfectly honest he wasn't exactly fond of being with another man in a love-love relationship. If he was honest he wasn't really fond with being with women either. Too much hassle, too much commitment and more than often, way too many tears. He wanted to do this for the good money and to keep his conscious clean, for Matthew's happiness.

"Are ye goin' t' next month's conference, pett?" He asked. Matthew gave a little nod.

"I think so. Benjamin's passport came in so he can come with us by plane."

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather stay here? Surely your stomach is going to be just a bit obvious when the time comes to travel… it might be safer to stay here with Iain."

"It's not going to hurt, Arthur… besides, the due date isn't until at least October time. I'll be fine, I promise."

Arthur gazed across the table to meet that of the young wavy-haired blonde. He looked unconvinced.

"Arthur, it's the only time Gilbert's going to get to see Ben… please?" Iain and Alfred secretly stole glances between words; their own private conversation not needing words, for Iain knew exactly what Alfred would want him to do.

"Aye, it'll be fine. I'll come along t' keep an eye on things. He ain't gonna be goin' into labour this early."

"Who's going to watch the house? We can't leave three cats and a bear to themselves for a few days-"

"If I must I'll get Dylan or Shane t' pop 'round. They'll be happy t' house-sit."

* * *

It was thanks to Iain and his compromising words that arrangements and plans were made by the evening with North Ireland and Wales that for a month's time they'd come over to keep an eye on things whilst the family were in Berlin.

Iain was most certainly coming. His priority was to ensure Gilbert didn't get between him and Matthew… and of course his money. He'd figured that if that albino kraut got in his way and swept Matthew off of his feet it'd mean someone else was making Matthew happy therefore rendering him redundant and cashless. The Scotsman worked diligently to make sure nobody found out about the deal – he knew Alfred was only doing this for his brother, nothing else. He'd have no problem off-laying Iain once and if someone else could be found.

Iain couldn't be having that, could he? He needed the money for more than just cigarettes and booze, after all. And if this was the easiest way to do it then so be it.

Iain was here to stay… at least until the contract was up.

Iain look over his book at the young nation next to him. Matthew was curled up on his side, arms tucked into his chest and his head resting against the plump pillows of the bed. Bits of sandy fringe were lopped over closed eyelids that concealed amethyst orbs. Matthew looked comfortable so Iain didn't dare disturb him. The poor child had barely been dozy all evening and in the end Iain had taken him straight up to bed after a late dinner of fish and chips. Benjamin was bedded down in his cot at the end of the bed but he was expected to wake up anytime now for one of his nightly feedings. Iain decided to ease Matthew's burden by taking this one and perhaps the next seeing as he felt it to be too early for him to be getting any sleep anyways. He was use to long, late nights.

Alfred and Arthur were still downstairs, he knew, for the television babbled on about something made incoherent by the layers of floorboard and brick. If it weren't for Matthew and Benjamin he'd be right down there with them enjoying a film, a glass of whiskey in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He decided against it though even when Benjamin was tended to.

Instead the Scotsman buried his nose back into the book with a weary sigh. He'd be glad when this would all be over.


	15. He Feels Guilty

**Chapter 14:**** He Feels Guilty**

**Date:**** 16th June, 2013 (June part 1)**

* * *

The day before the meeting had arrived and Francis had dropped by to help out.

"Alright, ye stupid bastards, listen up: me beer's in thee fridge but if ye so much as sniff it, yer dead. Sofa bed is upstairs in thee guest room – yer sharin', so keep outta thee master room and other bedrooms. Thar's a wee bit of cash in the bean tin on thee counter fer emergency. I don't expect t' come back t' find thee place a shithole, alright? Na parties. Just look after thee place an' feed thee fuckin' animals. An' another thing-"

It was still very dark out – actually they were leaving now, at five in the morning in order to catch their plane in time for the meeting as well as to beat the traffic that congregated around the roads that lead to Gatwick.

Iain stood outside just to the side of the front door with a hand on his hip and a luggage bag in the other. Two shorter men of more or less equal height of each other stood shoulder to shoulder, nodding. One man Matthew recognised as being Wales, with his short messy brown hair that stuck up at the back and cheeky emerald-green eyes that held some sort of a malicious green within their depths.

The other man had a toothy grin that stretched from ear to ear across his freckled jaw. Longer hair of a gorgeous fiery copper colour, cut roughly below the earlobes. In comparison to his brother, Shane, better known as Northern Ireland, had much deeper, darker eyes that had a distinct hazel undertone to them. They had arrived not so long ago and despite their smiles they were clearly weary from their own journeys.

The Scot finished laying down the law to his younger brothers, giving them a clear warning to what would happen if they disobeyed. The handle of the suitcase down by Iain's ankles was grasped and lynched into the air, swung like a pendulum as the eldest Kirkland made his way over towards the sleek black car across the drive.

"Ya dun't have nothin' ta worry 'bout Scotty! We're nat goin' ta nick ya rum!"

"And we'll feed tha cats!"

Iain rolled his eyes with disbelief and discontent taking his lips into a sneer. With his other arm free he hooked it around Matthew's shoulders to turn him towards the waiting car.

Alfred backed up from the open door of the back seat. He spotted them walking over and stretched out an arm in a wave. "Benny's all strapped in! That freakin' baby seat was a bitch to secure though."

"Get yerself belted up, pett," Iain patted Matthew on the back, removing his arm to open the car door for the young blonde who was by now five months heavy. "Where's me brother?" Iain asked dropping the suitcase after realising that Matthew would need a bit of help after all.

The blonde American swooped to take the Scot's luggage. Into the trunk it went with the rest of the travel bags and cases.

"Dunno. Still asleep, maybe?" Iain pushed a hand up through his blazing red hair that was still just a bit slick and shiny from his hot morning shower. Matthew peered out from the back seat window of Francis' car with sleepy violet eyes. His glasses slipped down again and this time the young nation failed to realign them.

Francis popped his head around the front door as Alfred approached in search of the Englishman.

"_Angleterre_ is just getting ready," The older blonde told him whilst presenting the snack bag, prepped with goods for the journey ahead. "Do you want me to get 'im?"

Normally Alfred would've taken the job himself, insisting quite strongly that it was the hero's job to all tasks, no matter how menial and apparently insignificant. Though at the moment Alfred's set task was to help pack the pile of suitcases and bags and other bits and pieces into the car trunk.

"Yeah… yeah, sure. Thanks. See if he's got his stuff packed too." Francis noted the uncharacteristic glumness that seemed to hang over Alfred. The Frenchman shook his head when the other turned his back with the hefty snack bag in-hand. Maybe Alfred was just tired. It was rather early after all.

Francis went back inside; taking the staircase two steps at a time. He was feeling awake, refreshed, even. He'd arrived on the Calais ferry to Dover the night before and had travelled down in order to help out. Besides, he had the largest (regrettably, not the flashiest) car. It could easily take all six of them.

The door of the master bedroom was closed. Francis rapped the hard wood with his knuckles.

"_Angleterre_~ we're all waiting on you, you know."

No reply.

"_Angleterre_ are you alright? I'm coming in." He took the tarnished wooden doorknob into his hand and turned it at a clockwise angle. Applying his weight to the door he pushed it open.

The first thing France noticed was the dim lighting. An eerie moonlight glow emitted from the old bedside lamp, occasionally the worn bulb flickering as it struggled to keep up its work. Small weak shadows were cast across the carpet and the walls.

Articles of clothing of every kind were carelessly dumped in the middle of the floor creating some sort of a trail that led from the wardrobe on one side of the room to the antique full-length mirror on the other. Francis remained in the doorway.

There was Arthur, curled up on his side of the bed, half dressed in a beige pullover shirt and boxer shorts. His face was screwed up, twisted in grimace, eyebrows knitted together to form an undeniable frown. Arthur's cheeks were plump with a light dusting of pink. This being the first time Francis had actually seen him in over a month; the Frenchman hadn't witnessed Arthur's sudden deterioration. Frequent meals had replaced his recent diet of nothing allowing his weight to steadily replenish. Arthur had figured that he had to make up for the lack of nutrients somehow particularly when he came to terms with the pregnancy.

Of course Francis was unaware that any of this had happened. Yes he knew Arthur had been in a bit of a bad way when they returned to the UK from Paris but nothing more. Matthew hadn't said much on the phone although he was sure that once or twice he'd mentioned that Arthur was acting unusual.

A little pang of guilt for abandoning his ex-lover lingered. Francis carefully picked his way over the patchwork of clothes. He tsked with disapproval at the mess and more so when his eyes glided over a familiar cashmere sweater that lay in a screwed heap. The very same one he'd bought the Briton two Christmases ago yet one he'd never seen him wear.

A low moan caused the Frenchman to glance up. Arthur was repositioning himself onto his back. He must've found even this position uncomfortable for it was a matter of seconds before Arthur curled back onto his side.

As he neared the sleeping nation France's blue eyes boldly drifted over the man, who once upon a time no-one else would touch. Arthur's expression had softened considerably he noticed. He also noticed that the pullover was rather taut on Arthur's frame. Francis knew very well that Arthur was something of a weedy little man with little to no obvious muscle or body fat so most clothes looked a bit big on him.

Yet, he wasn't as weak as one might think. Weaker now compared to certain nations but not helpless or an easy victim. But Francis found attractiveness in that fine body that was probably too scrawny for the liking of most women or men. Arthur's attitude may have been enough to put the remainder of his admirers off if his body didn't.

The Frenchman crouched beside the bed. He was aware that if he didn't do something soon Alfred or Iain would arrive. But disturbing Arthur seemed unfair… he seemed so content with sleeping like this, crudely dressed and arms tucked in a semi-foetal position.

Francis' eyes were drawn back to the tight-fitting material of the long-sleeved top. There was a protruding bump that stuck up making it so the pullover barely covered the odd belly. It was rather unnatural looking he thought, as if Arthur had gone and stuck something like a half-inflated balloon underneath. In fact Francis couldn't resist giving it a gentle prod with a curious finger just to make sure it wasn't.

"Oh, Arthur… what 'ave you been doing to yourself to get like this, hm?" He didn't expect an answer so instead he looked back to the clothes littering the floor. "If you're so big that your clothes won't fit then perhaps big brother needs to put you on a diet." Francis's eyes darted to meet the closed lids of Arthur's. Only now that he was up close could he see that his eyes were puffy and wet. He nibbled his lip after finally coming to the conclusion that Arthur had become upset over something, perhaps his incredible weight gain, and as a result his own fatigue had lulled him back to sleep.

Fearing that waking the Brit would cause some unavoidable bother, Francis simply went through the piles on the floor until he found a shirt and a reasonably loose fitting cardigan and pulled them onto Arthur. Then he went into the drawers until he found some jeans (he was surprised to see that Arthur actually owned a pair) and added them to the Brit as he slept unaware.

Next Francis went scrambling through the drawers of the bedside table in search of some socks. It wasn't long before Francis found the right drawer and yanked out a pair, the plain black kind with the coloured heels and toes. Something else hidden beneath some more socks caught Francis' eye, however.

A quick glance over his shoulder told Francis that he wouldn't be interrupted… so he decided to be nosy. He dipped a hand into the drawer and promptly withdrew the item of his curiosity: a calendar. Examining it a little more thoroughly he quickly found that the days were marked with each week before today's date marked.

Francis frowned. Why was this hidden away? What did it mean?

"I swear t' God, if ye bastards aren't done up there…! Hurry up, we're goin' t' be late for our plane!"

Francis dropped the calendar back in the draw. He found Arthur's suitcase at the foot of the bed, a few toiletries and the Brit's green military uniform already packed. He stuffed a few spare changes of clothing and underwear in and snapped it shut.

"Wake up, cher. We must be going now… you can sleep in the car and on the plane, I promise." Blonde eyelashes fluttered at a soft touch.

"Mm… g'waaay… "

"_S'il vous plait_, Arthur. Everyone is waiting on you, and your brother does not seem to be in the mood. Let's try to make it easier for them, _oui_?"

Arthur begrudgingly allowed Francis to help him up before escorting him out to the dark world outside, an arm looped across his shoulders. Arthur eventually succumbed, falling into the supportive hold of his ex-lover. Francis smirked into the Brit's bed-mess hair. He walked, swinging the packed suitcase of Arthur's in his free hand whilst trying to keep a good pace. Iain was waiting impatiently down in the foyer with his hands on his hips and a frown over his face. Dylan and Shane hung back in the doorway of the living room peering out like a pair of naughty little children who were giddily awaiting the scolding of their sibling… of course there was nothing different about this and that.

Iain was biting down on a cigarette. The end smouldered, spitting tendrils of blue smoke.

"We're goin' t' be fuckin' late! Get yer shoes on an' gettin thee fuckin' car!" A billow of smoke blew from his nostrils as he took the tobacco stick out to exhale, reminding Francis of one of those angry cartoon bulls from the television.

Arthur sensed the threat in Iain's tone and urged his legs to take him a little faster by. Iain and Francis glared at the other. They'd never had a particularly good relationship and now things had taken a rocky turn.

Once they reached the vehicle with Alfred configuring the luggage of the others in the trunk to try and squeeze his own double-sized bags that contained God-knows what. Francis simply handed over Arthur's suitcase whilst thinking back to see if he forgot anything before opening up the backseat and easing Arthur onto the seat.

"Comin' through!" Alfred made a move to squeeze past the older blonde, his eyes firmly on the plush fabric window seat. Francis swatted him in retaliation. As Alfred settled himself with a grin to the Frenchman that clearly said 'I win', Francis decided to ignore him, just taking the driver's seat in the front of the car.

Matthew was curled with his head cradled against Benjamin's baby seat. Benjamin was swaddled in a blanket with his favourite stuffed dog in arm whilst sucking on a pacifier. Both of them were fast asleep. A smile tugged at Francis' soft pink lips. Both looked so cute, particularly because Matthew's stomach was riding up against his round belly.

A shout was heard from the house. Alfred and Francis looked up just in time to see Iain storm out, discarding his cigarette over his shoulder after taking a final drag and exhaling a wispy cloud. He got into the front passenger's seat and strapped in.

"Whatta ye starin' at? Thee plane leaves in twenty-five minutes, getta move on!"

Francis simply said nothing, jamming the key into the ignition and twisting it until the engine sputtered. He tried again. And again. And a fourth time. But to no avail.

"The engine won't start," Francis announced half-heartedly, trying once more. "It… it was working just fine a little while ago." The Scot deadpanned.

"Yer havin' a fuckin' laugh. Move." Francis obliged reluctantly to the command. Within moments it was Iain who sat in the driver's seat, forcefully turning the key which elicited a hiss from the blonde. Alfred keenly watched from the back rocking forward on his seat as he waited for them to get moving.

"What's the hold up? We're gonna be late!"

"Don't ye think I know that?! This car is a piece of shit, is what it is!"

"Says the one who drives a rusting scrapheap on wheels." Retorted Francis.

"At least it works, ye good-for-nothin' French prat!"

"Hey, calm down, dude. Mattie, the kid and Artie are sleeping y'know."

Iain groaned.

"This is takin' thee piss. We ain't gonna make it… fuckin' typical!" Shane and Dylan were suddenly knocking at the window. Iain pushed open the door when the Irishman knocked on the glass.

"What's this then?" The Welshman asked brightly.

"Shut it. I'm gonna go give the boys a call. Tell 'em we can't be making it today."

"Aw, t'at's a cryin' shame!" Teased Shane as he put a playful arm around Dylan only to be abruptly thrown off with a chortling push.

"Diddums!" The other jeered. Both laughed only to be silenced when they caught the dangerous green of Iain's eyes. Fortunately for them Iain didn't make a move to wrench either as he got from the car. But just in case the two younger brothers retreated a good few steps out of range.

"So what are we gonna do now?" Alfred asked. Francis twisted to face the four in the back. A calm look had taken to his features.

"'Ow about we get them back inside to bed first? It's too cold to sleep out 'ere." Was his suggestion as he already got out the car and opened the back door. He unbuckled Benjamin from his car seat and gathered him up.

Shane and Dylan had followed him round, doing anything to avoid the grouchy red-headed brother of theirs as he'd wandered inside the house, probably to raid the cupboards for his stash of rum and cigarettes and to make that phone call.

The freckled face of the Irishman was brought to the level of the infant's, a pleasant jolly sort of grin stretching across his jaw. His emerald eyes were practically glowing in the early dawn light.

"Look at tha wee babby. Ain't 'e sleepin' a dream!" He said to his brother. Dylan nodded but took the Irishman by the shoulder, directing him towards the car.

"Aye, he's a diddy thing, innee? C'mon, let's get the bags back in, you can play with him later."

Francis smiled broadly. Those two really were quite unlike Iain and Arthur – a little cheekier perhaps but with a good sense of humour, and thankfully, brains between them. He rarely met the two seeing as they never attended conferences – Arthur wouldn't allow it so as long as they were a part of the United Kingdom. When they did meet up once in a blue moon the brothers were often the life of the party, getting drunk or starting lively arguments with each other and anyone else who seemed a worthy target in their intoxicated states.

A light stirring alerted Francis that Benjamin was awakening. Checking the car again he found that Arthur and Alfred were gone but Matthew remained, dozing. Francis reached for the little stuffed dog on the baby seat, tucking it securely under one arm. He'd put the child in his cot and then he'd see if Iain or Alfred would prepare a bottle whilst he returned for the Canadian.

* * *

Iain was in a brutish mood as he sat in the lounge dialling Sweden's number. The phone rang and rang and rang. Iain remained patient. Then when nobody picked up he simply left a message stating that they wouldn't be making due to mechanical difficulties. He had thought about hiring a taxi. It would mean though that they probably wouldn't make it to the airport anyways, and catching a later plane would've been of no use.

"Iain, Benjamin's in bed. You'll make up a bottle, won't you?"

"Eh? Oh. Aye… aye… nae bother. Then I'm goin' back t' bed. Too bloody early." Seeing as he was already wide awake compared to the knackered Scotsman, Francis would've said otherwise.

But Francis only nodded warily and continued back to the car, passing a luggage-laden Dylan and Shane came barrelling by in fits of giggles and incoherent words masked by their thick accents. Truth be told, Francis could barely understand the Irishman.

The Frenchman felt bad for momentarily disturbing his little Mathieu's sleep. The younger nation struggled weakly until his groans of protest subsided and he instead snuggled against the inviting warmth of his former carer and adoptive father. Francis carried him like you would a child, a hand held protectively across the back of the young man's head as it lolled against his shoulder whilst the opposite supported his backside and held him upright. Francis was careful as not to allow Matthew's belly to be pressed to closely against his chest. Walking back inside Francis noticed that Matthew felt warmer than he remembered; not by much but enough so that it could be noticed. Matthew's plump cheeks held a radiant pink tinge overall his fair complexion. Some might say he had something of a motherly glow. Those sorts of words rested on the Frenchman's smiling lips.

He hung at the door momentarily, using those same lips to press a gentle kiss into the hairline of his own child. Francis had to lick his lips afterwards. The cold early morning wind had left them feeling dry and a little sore although he knew licking them wasn't really the best way to go about hydrating them. It would only be a matter of minutes before the salty saliva dried them up again.

Heavy boot step creaked along the upstairs floorboards, the wood sounding as though it would give way any moment. Francis looked to the ceiling as though hoping to see the noisy offender. He gave Matthew a little pat, then took to wobbling up the staircase. Walking up a flight of stairs with your arms filled with such precious cargo was by no means an easy task. Matthew was a tad heavier than he looked, having put on at least a few extra pounds from his snacky eating habits as a slight side-effect of his pregnancy. Francis needed to muster up all of the effort in his arms and legs to carry his dead-weight son without stumbling over or crashing into the banister which he so longed to grasp to steady himself.

"I'll take him." Francis barely had a chance to realise what had happened by the time he found his little Mathieu taken from his person. The arms that instead cradled him were wiry and surprisingly muscled for ones so slender, decored with pale skin and light freckling.

Francis leered at the bold Scotsman, leaning to the side to take the banister.

"Benjamin 'as 'is bottle, I take it?"

"As a matter of fact, he does," Iain hugged Matthew closer. "I'll put him back t' bed. I suggest ye go back t' whatever it was ye were doin' before."

"Where's Arthur?"

"Alfred bedded him down."

"What about Dylan and Shane? Are they still 'ere?"

"Aye. They said they were gonna crash here for a few nights seeing as they put thee effort t' comin' down fer us. They're sharin' thee pull-out sofa bed down thee hall. Stupid bastards are knackered so they're sleepin'." Iain replied, rolling Matthew gently in his arms.

Francis saved a moment to glare at the Scotsman. He suppressed an ugly sneer and instead he simply tromped back down the stairs to find something else to do after he locked the car, not that he needed to worry about any punters trying to take it for a joy-ride, the only ones for miles around being the middle-eldest of the Kirklands who, if Iain was right, were sleeping. It was still many hours too early for breakfast so he didn't bother going off to the kitchen. And he was neither tired nor particularly interested in watching television at the moment.

The Frenchman let out a weary groan. All the beds in the house would be taken with several extras here. There was nowhere for him to sleep anyways. But the Frenchman decided that if he did manage to have a good kip it would be at least mid-morning with the others awake and refreshed. So he joined the three cats and Kumajiro on the living room sofa. A neatly folded fleece blanket used for warming numb legs in the evenings was pulled from the arm of the chair to cover his self. The animals were none too impressed to begin with to have their rest disturbed but things quickly smoothed back over as Francis allowed them to clamber over his body. Many pairs of claws kneaded and one rather fluffy polar bear practically suffocated him… but it was comfy enough, he supposed.

* * *

Meanwhile, upstairs Iain had undressed Matthew and had thrown on some drawstring pyjama pants and a over-sized shirt that was nearly three sizes too big (Iain had found it in the cupboard; he didn't spare a thought to wonder who it belonged to), in favour of searching through the bags and suitcases that had yet to be unpacked. Benjamin made no noise from his crib. Iain had simply handed the bottle over and left him to it.

When he had Matthew cosy beneath the covers he too stripped down, snagging another pair of pyjama pants and pulling them up. He lay down with a sigh of content, looping an arm to pull Matthew closer. The boy smacked his lips noisily with a small cute moan before subconsciously accepting Iain's offer to use him like his own personal pillow. Iain had very quickly learnt that Matthew was clingy. It was almost guaranteed that in the mornings or after falling asleep next to him, he'd wake with Matthew snuggling close with his arms wrapped around his middle or chest. Iain didn't mind though – once he got use to it, it was actually kinda nice. Warm with a genuine sense of love from the Canadian. He was doing all of this for Matthew. He knew it was the right thing to do. It felt nice to actually feel loved and appreciated for once. The sort of love he'd never gotten from any of the usual blokes or birds from his home. He supposed that was the reason why'd he'd been so reluctant to accept this 'job' of his. Matthew was happy. Benjamin was happy. Everyone seemed to be happy.

But there was something eating away at his conscious… he couldn't help it but Iain felt guilty.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I don't think I've really been keeping track of it before, but I believe that at this point in the story Matthew is 22 weeks along and Arthur should be about 19 weeks... so both are about half way, give or take a week or two. More involving the pregnancies will be in the next couple of chapters. Gilbert will also be returning ^^


	16. Francis and Iain

**Chapter 15:**** Francis and Iain**

**Date:****19th June, 2013 (June part 2)**

* * *

Several days had passed. They were long days filled with non-stop early summer rain and phone calls from some of the fellow nations, some of which who'd just learnt of Canada's pregnancy and wanted to congratulate him, and others who were trying to fill them in on what they'd missed at the meeting.

Arthur retired to his bedroom earlier on in the day with the complaint of a stomach-ache. Alfred, who had gone to the village to fetch some more groceries to fill the near-empty larder, was replaced by Francis. The Frenchman was still rather curious. Arthur had been acting rather peculiar for days, especially when he made that trip to the chemists, insistently on his own.

The fact that they couldn't make it to the meeting in Stockholm didn't seem to bother the Briton nor the Canadian. Actually in a way they'd been relieved, so to say. Matthew decided from that point that perhaps he should refrain from attending anymore meetings until the pregnancy was over, particularly by the fact that his boss had granted him leave meaning it was all overtime work anyways.

Whilst Arthur had settled down for a nap Francis decided to sneak another look in the drawer for the calendar, only to find it missing. Discouraged, Francis had hung around hoping to catch a moment where Arthur would wake up. Something told him that he needed to but to also use it as an excuse to look for the calendar again should Arthur wake up.

To his luck, Arthur did wake eventually. Cloudy eyes that still looked red from crying and puffy cheeks that were dusted with a deep pinkish tint made Francis to want to curl up by his side out of sympathy for the weakened man. Arthur reacted differently to how he was thought to: he actually asked for Francis to help him.

"_Angleterre_, what do you mean?"

"I… I need your help. Stupid frog." Arthur turned his head a miniscule degree to face Francis, before letting it fall back against the pillow. If his eyes contacted Francis' it would all be over – he couldn't let him see the tears that would show how desperate he was.

It was odd to hear Arthur willingly plea for any sort of assistance. Normally he was an independent man who was too stubborn to admit his own faults. The great British Empire, he would call himself, too powerful (too proud) for anyone else's help.

This was new.

The wavy haired man studied Arthur from his seat on the bedroom chair for a moment, before giving a soft sigh. He couldn't say no, not when this was such a rare opportunity. Francis didn't know if he was only being asked because he was the only one here or for another more personal issue. All he knew was that at this precise moment in time, he wanted to play as Arthur's saviour.

Francis approached the bedside. He dropped to his knees before reaching for to rummage beneath the covers until he had Arthur's hand clasped between his. "Alright _cher_. What is it? What can I 'elp you with?"

Arthur had decided that if there was one person he could trust it was Francis. Though the two had their ups and downs as nations they shared a mutual friendship, a bond of sorts. Arthur often, though secretly, liked to think the bond had strengthened considerably when they'd been lovers, remaining so even now. If Francis was the same man he'd been back then then the younger blonde was certain, if not nervous, that the man would help him. Somehow.

For extra measure Arthur shut his eyes and squeezed Francis' hand weakly. His lips quivered but were unable to let the words on his tongue roll out.

"Would you like something to drink, _cher_?" Francis gently removed the hand that sandwiched Arthur's and rested the back of it against Arthur's cheek. "You look 'orribly warm. Are you feeling alright?"

Arthur shook his head.

"No… I'm fine…"

"If you're sure… you look like 'ell." Sucking in a deep breath Arthur finally plucked the courage up to make eye contact with the handsome Frenchman. A little tug on his hand drew Francis slightly closer. Arthur glanced quickly over at the closed bedroom door as if he was checking that nobody would interrupt them. Then like before, the watery green of Arthur's eyes met the firm azure warmth of Francis'.

There was a tense moment of silence. And then at last Arthur spoke, doing his best not to stammer or break into tears.

"Francis… do you remember what happened several months ago? After the night went out for drinks to celebrate Antonio's birthday with Alfred?"

"I think I vaguely remember it. The four of us going, _oui_. Not much else."

"I… can remember it. Some parts, I mean. But we – you, me and Alfred – woke up together the next morning in bed, didn't we?"

The puzzling look he got from Francis told him to keep going.

"... Well, we can only assume what went on after a few drinks… but, as Alfred might've told you I wasn't particularly well for a long time."

"_Oui_, I 'eard."

Another silence ensued and Arthur broke the gaze, eyebrows knitted in a frown. Francis cocked his head.

"You were saying, Arthur?"

"…Yes… well… you see, the doctor came after the symptoms persisted. He took blood samples from everyone… everyone else were given the 'all-clear'."

"…And you?"

"I… Francis, do you promise that you won't overreact?"

"_Oui_. I promise." Francis replaced his hand back over Arthur's. Very slowly the Brit sat up against his pillow.

"I'm not quite sure how I'm supposed to go about this… you see… I'm pregnant. And if the doctor is correct then I should be about nineteen weeks by now."

"Oh… Arthur," Francis' arms slipped behind his shoulders and drew him up into a hug. His reaction had been only been delayed for a couple of seconds. "Why didn't you tell anyone? Your brother… if Iain knew 'e wouldn't be so 'ard on you right now."

Arthur buried his nose into the crook of Francis' neck inhaling the comforting musk. It was a different sort of smell than one might first suspect. A smell that reminded him of wine and roses, perfume and warm bread. There was a sort of air about it that made him both hate him and love him at the same time… but it was a different sort of love.

Nodding slowly Francis rubbed a hand against the back of Arthur's head, moving in slowly gentle circles. It wasn't much longer before Arthur found himself being rocked in strong arms on the Frenchman's lap.

"Arthur, you used that calendar in your underwear draw to mark the weeks, didn't you?" Arthur lifted his head. The tears had begun just a moment ago but already his eyes were rendered glassy and red.

"Y-you found it?"

"Oui. The other morning, I was trying to pack the rest of your suitcase and found it. I had always thought it was normal to keep calendars on walls so I thought it to be a little bit strange."

"I was trying to hide it from Alfred. He doesn't know. You, I and the doctor are the only ones." Francis pressed a hand back to Arthur's head encouraging him to rest his chin back on his shoulder. Arthur did just that with a sniff.

"Arthur, surely Alfred will find out sooner or later. 'E'll be excited to know that 'e will be a papa as well, _non_?"

"Tha-that's the thing… I… don't know who the father is. Francis, I counted back the weeks and if I'm right, then either you or Arthur could be… the father…" He trailed off into silence until the last word barely left his lips as a whisper. Arthur choked back a sob as Francis patted his back. The Frenchman needed Arthur to calm down. A 'quiet time'. So Francis pulled the Brit into his arms and carried him into the conjoined bathroom to get him cleaned up.

"Francis, what am I going to do?" Asked Arthur from where he now sat on the toilet sear lid some time later. Francis stood with his side to him at the sink, running half of a flannel underneath the warm tap. After wringing it out he came and kneeled at Arthur's feet and began dabbing gently at his tear-soaked face, holding the Briton's cheeks alternatively with his free hand as he washed with the other.

"Whatever you choose to do, _mon cher_," Francis looked up from his work, eyes meeting. "You're not on your own, remember. Alfred, he doesn't know?"

"As far as I know he isn't even aware of what happened that night. He's completely oblivious." Finishing up, Francis threw the flannel into the sink. The flicker of Arthur's mossy green eyes when he turned back wasn't missed.

"Please don't tell him, Francis. _Please, please_ don't."

"'E 'as to find out soon, _mon cher_. You're only going to get bigger – look at you now," He gestured to Arthur's stomach, hidden by the pyjama shirt he wore. "Let me 'elp you, hn? You're not alone so don't act like it."

The pair left the bathroom together, hand in hand. Francis allowed Arthur to stay in his pyjamas so as long as he at least changed his shirt once a day and bathed regularly, particularly because it was more comfortable this way and a little less embarrassing. By the time they headed downstairs Alfred had come through the door with several grocery bags, then disappeared off into the kitchen.

"I got lunch covered~!"

Francis couldn't help but smirk. Planting a small kiss on the crown of the Brit's head he followed through, calling back to the younger blonde with a smile.

"I'll go 'elp 'im. 'Ave a lie down and we'll call you all in when it's done."

* * *

Arthur found Matthew and Iain on the living room couch. The Scotsman was reading one-handily from a novel, Matthew curled up beneath his free arm, fast asleep.

A children's cartoon was on the television. Bundled on the floor sat Shane with Benjamin in his lap, Dylan and Kumajiro. Benjamin's eyes were fixed to the screen. His little arms were wrapped around his favourite stuffed dog, the ear of the toy well-worn and made permanently damp by the infant's drippy mouth.

Arthur lingered by the door with a hand to his stomach. His brothers seemed too engaged to notice or apparently care of his presence so slowly he moved over to take claims to the nearest armchair. From the corner of his eye he noticed Iain pat the empty seat beside him, his eyes never leaving his page in the book. A little unsure but with no doubt considering the offer, Arthur deadpanned. Then, cautiously he took the seat beside his brother without a word, expecting foul words to be whispered into his ear. Arthur prepared for the worst, not that he felt up for it, and tensed. Iain read a couple more pages of his book, snapping it shut and stretching across Matthew to drop it on the three-legged table that stood next door.

Arthur's hands firmly gripped his kneecaps, squeezing, clearly anxious about something, almost waiting in anticipation for his brother to randomly club him around the head. Arthur knew that Iain had lost his patience with him. Normally if someone was ill you'd expect them to welcome the care and attention those around that person would give, not reject it to continue brooding. Arthur knew he hadn't been a very easy patient. Picky and stubborn, irritable and prone to violent outbursts… the short Brit didn't blame Iain for storming off out of frustration every now and again. Difficult was the word he'd used.

Getting up from the couch Iain walked over to turn off the television set. After he turned to face his brothers.

"What was that for?"

"Come on, Scotty! It's gettin' ta tha best bit!" Dylan and Shane cried out in dismay, their faces caught somewhere between confusion and upset that their eldest brother had confiscated the one thing that gave them an excuse to not talk to each other.

"Ye two; scram. Take Matt an' thee lad with ye."

"Scot…"

"Now, unless ye want me boot up yer arses."

The younger pair exchanged glances before getting up to leave the room. Benjamin gurgled quietly – it hadn't been much of a loss for him; he didn't seem to care much for TV so it seemed to be more of a luxury for the Welshman and Irishman than for him. He simply allowed Shane to scoop him up whilst his sleeping Papa was gathered carefully into the arms of the Welshman. The pair scurried out of the room, narrowly missing a boot up the backsides when Iain decided their paces slackened.

Iain peered across the foyer and down the hallway to check that nobody was around, Dylan and Shane huffily tromping up the stairs with their precious cargo and Kumajiro in tow. He felt the pocket of his military jacket to reassure himself that it still contained his earlier find. Once satisfied that he still had it he closed the living room door. Arthur lifted his eyes from his lap, following Iain as he made his way back across the room

He sat himself quite comfortably on the plush green couch, crossing his legs. Arthur squirmed, absently pulling at the oversized shirt that looked more like a nightie on his frail and frightfully pale frame.

Iain allowed a moment of silence. His face was pulled into a blank; unreadable, unreliable. It looked as though the man would pull out one of those horrid cigarettes from his pockets (it wasn't like Arthur was a non-smoker; in times of absolute stress he'd have a drag on one if one was available, but now wasn't a good time). Arthur, with his shoulders squared and mouth pressed tightly shut, glanced away again. Very slowly Iain turned his head to look over, a thick red eyebrow arched.

"I don't s'pose ye know what's goin' on, do ye?" Said Iain with a sigh, hooking an arm around his weedy brother's shoulders and pulling him in. Arthur suppressed a squeal of alarm.

"N-no… I don't know what you mean. Is this an intervention?"

"I wouldn't say that. An intervention usually consists of a few concerned tosspots with a few lame attempts t' try an' get someone t' change their ways. What does this look like t' ye?"

A few choice words came to mind but that's where they stayed.

"Listen, laddie… I want t' know what's been eatin' at ye lately. Those prats out in thee kitchen aren't doin' thee job, so I am," Iain dipped into his pocket to retrieve something. Within moments he withdrew a long narrow object wrapped loosely in several sheets of toilet paper. "Na, thee day before this ye went off t' thee pharmacy, didn't ye? Ye brought back a wee paper bag of somethin' an' no-one's seen neither hide nor hair of what ye bought."

Arthur shuffled, warming gradually to Iain's touch and so allowed himself to relax into it. His eyes watched the wrapped object curiously.

"So, it just so happens I ran outta toothpaste an' I needed some. So I went into ye bathroom last night t' get some seein' as ye didn't have thee courtesy t' ask if we needed anythin' before," He waggled the stick-like object almost tauntingly. The tone of his voice was beginning to become unfriendly and Arthur didn't like it. It was starting to dawn on him what his brother had found.

"Anyways, I found some. But… an' this is a big 'but', laddie… guess what I found in thee bathroom bin?"

"You… you were digging in the trash?"

"An accident, I can assure ye. Knocked it over by accident."

"Of course…"

"Now then, Arthur. I'd like ye t' tell me somethin'…" Iain removed the arm that cradled his brother as he began picking at the toilet paper carefully unwrapping it. It was laid across the palm of his hand, his fingers curled slightly over what appeared to be the thicker end of the stick-thing. "What is this?"

Arthur felt his throat tighten into a knot. For a moment he felt breathless, quite literally unable to inhale, like he was suffocating. After what seemed like a couple of minutes Arthur found the strength to breathe again only for his eyes to water up.

"I…I…"

"Tell me what this is. Now." The tone in Iain's voice was dangerous now and at all cost the Englishman avoided his eyes, focusing on the black screen of the television set. This didn't last long for Iain grasped him painfully by the shoulder and with a forceful jerk, pulled Arthur to face him. He dug in his fingers, the nails sinking through the thin shirt he wore.

"I-it's a pregnancy test." Arthur winced as the grip turned vice-like.

"A fuckin' pregnancy test. What does it read, Arthur?"

"…Positive…?"

"Positive. Positive, positive, positive, fuckin' positive!"

"Iain… I'm sorry…"

"Ye sure? Do ye even know what this means?" Iain forced his face a fraction closer, a growl emitting from his throat. There was no answer but the look in Arthur's eyes accompanied by the fact that he was certain his brother was trembling was enough to tell him that he did realise what it meant.

All of a sudden all traces of Iain's anger vanished as he pulled the terrified Arthur into a comforting hug. Surprised, Arthur desperately had tried to pull away at first, certain that he was in for an extraordinary beating but to no avail, and when he realised it was quite the opposite, allowed himself to sink into his arms.

Somehow despite earlier Arthur found more tears to cry, unable to keep them back even when he tried, resulting in him half choking and half sobbing.

"Yer an emotional wreck. It's no wonder ye've been actin' up lately."

"Scot, I'm sorry…"

"Shut up," Iain said, firm yet softly in a comforting sort of way. "Who else knows?"

"Just Francis."

"Not Alfred, then?"

"No."

"Alright then. How far along?" Arthur rolled his shoulders, which wasn't an easy feat considering that Iain had his arms wrapped around them.

"Four months, maybe?" There was another long pause between them. Arthur was uncertain how to feel exactly, even whether he was truly safe like this. The hug wasn't tender or loving like the hugs he'd get from Francis or Alfred. The feeling of security was absent.

Fortunately Iain didn't have any ill intentions. He slipped an arm between them, breaking the contact, and settled Arthur back with a firm hand; he didn't want to make Arthur think that he was going to coddle him like he was doing with Matthew.

"Scot, what should I do?" Arthur didn't look at his brother. He'd asked Francis the same thing only to receive an ambiguous answer.

"How should I know? Does it look like I've ever gotten knocked up?" He sideway glanced at Arthur. "What's on ye mind?"

"It's just… well, I don't know if I want a baby."

"If ye didn't want a baby then ye wouldn't have gotten yerself pregnant."

"It wasn't exactly intentional, you know."

"Well there's a surprise! Ye cry an' complain every time one of yer wee precious colonies decides t' ditch ye fer better an' now that yer havin' a kid all yer own, ye don't want it? Seems strange considering ye did well to raise thee others."

"Are you saying I should keep it?"

"I'm not sayin' ye shouldn't, am I? I wouldn't be tellin' ye all this shit if I weren't worried."

Arthur considered this. Then with a shaky smile he nodded.

"So, who's thee father?"

* * *

**Author's Note:** It took a little longer to write this chapter than expected... probably because this is Chap 15 version 3. The first version I wrote whilst watching a few gory horror films and that lead to the implied in-dream deaths of three characters with some pretty vivid description. Didn't think that'd really be appropiate, so I tried again. The second version I couldn't get anywhere with so in the end I settled with this one.  
Who knows? If I can tone down and edit the first version I might use it later on.


	17. Another Guest

**Chapter 16:**** Another Guest**

**Date: ****19th June, 2013 (June part 3)**

* * *

They ate lunch at noon sharpish, the family of seven plus baby Benjamin and Kumajiro chatting comfortably, all with the exception of Arthur. Every flash of a glance Iain sent him, a look that said 'tell him after lunch' (that 'him' referring to Alfred) only made the anxious Englishman will himself to just blend in with the scenery with the regret of actually admitting anything to his older brother.

His other brothers, thank God, were getting along better than he'd hoped as they obnoxiously sang and spoke aloud. It was hard to tell if they were sober or if they'd slipped down some whiskey from the liquor cabinet but either way it was all in good fun. Francis watched over the rim of his wine glass, sipping occasionally with an amused smile on his lips, elbow propped on the table. Alfred laughed when Benjamin threw his pudgy little arms up, mouth open and eagerly awaiting the next spoonful of mush to be presented. Matthew more than happily complied. He was just happy. Happy that everyone was getting along, happy that so far his pregnancy was going smoothly, and happy that the little boy he already was healthy and well.

Every now and again Matthew looked over at Arthur. Each time he did he could see that Arthur was gradually eating up the food on his plate. Francis and Alfred had prepared scrambled eggs on toast to eat, with some egg mixed with Benjamin's usual jar of applesauce baby food. A nice simple meal.

"_Mathieu_, your food is going to get cold." Francis said with a smirk, tapping the table top with a finger whilst swirling the remnants of his glass in the other hand. Matthew had been neglecting his meal in favour of feeding his son. The Frenchman put the glass back to his lips, draining the last of the translucent off-yellow liquid, puckering his lips when the last drops passed through.

_**Still just a child…**_ he thought sadly, the smile suddenly vanishing. His little _Mathieu_ still had the immature looks and heart of a timid little eighteen year old yet he was already half-way pregnant with his second child. And the thought of such a thing made Francis

Matthew fed the last spoonful into Benjamin, who banged his fists on the tray of his high chair – his way of showing mealtime appreciation, the others assumed and often delighted in with shared smiles. A bottle was put on the tray for afterwards and Matthew turned to eat his fill before his stomach decided to complain. He took a couple of bites and then turned to carry on a conversation with Francis, who took Benjamin from his seat to feed him the bottle.

Iain chewed slowly, like a cow with cud, as he watched from where he sat. He ignored Shane and Dylan, Alfred too, instead letting his attention fall on his youngest sibling. His cheek rested in one hand with his elbow propped on the table. In the other he held a piece of his half-eaten cold toast. Arthur sipped from a glass of juice and nibbled at his own food, being careful not to lift his eyes to meet anyone's gaze. Iain was sitting directly on the opposite side of the table so he had a good (and so far) unobstructed view of him.

He wondered to himself how long Arthur planned on keeping it to himself, if he'd ever let Alfred know despite being so far along already. He wrinkled his nose in a sense of disgust. Really, how could anyone be surprised that England of all nations was one to end up being pregnant? Iain shook his head slowly. Now that the news had had time to sink in properly, he'd actually felt some sort of excitement bubble up in the anticipation of being an uncle… not that he'd probably get to see the child often enough to really grow much of an emotional attachment to it. Kids were trouble – his experience with his wayward family was enough to put him off. Even that little Benjamin was a pain… in a cute sort of way. It wasn't like children nowadays were allowed bows and arrows or sharp little dagger-knives, was it?

The Scotsman shook his head with a soft grunt. He dropped the leftover crust onto his plate and got up. He silently gathered up everyone's plates and ambled out, head returning to its trail of baby-thought, oblivious to the softly spoken 'thank you' of the Canadian.

* * *

"Settle down on the couch for a rest, _petit_… you too, _Angleterre_." Francis pulled the lightweight couch quilt over the two of them after helping them to the living room. He took Benjamin from Matthew's arms and disappeared from the room with the intention of getting the child bathed and changed before returning to do the dishes.

Matthew quietly settled on the couch with a hand on his belly. The bump was more than a little bit noticeable now but it wasn't something his loose-fitting clothes couldn't cover. Regardless, Matthew wasn't allowed to leave the property grounds or answer the door to any strangers – they couldn't risk any sort of suspicions that could end up with media attention, and Arthur knew their bosses would not be pleased. And soon within the next few months as he neared the due date he knew someone would always be at his side, even when he would need the toilet - Alfred had reassured.

Arthur secretly slipped a hand under the shared quilt and touched the warm fragile flesh of his own stomach. Arthur couldn't help but compare the growth of his to that of Matthew's. It wasn't fair to do so, he knew, for he realised that Matthew did have at least a three week advantage and therefore would be a little bit bigger as expected. But glancing from the younger nation's belly to his own he realised that there wasn't much of a difference in their size, perhaps half an inch at best.

"Arthur? Is there something wrong?"

"What? Don't be so ridiculous! Of course not, why do you ask?" The sudden question made Arthur whip his hand away and Matthew fidgeted, soft violet eyes gazing gently at the Englishman who occupied the other half of the sofa.

"Well… I'm sure I can't be the first to notice this but you've been acting a little bit odd recently… well, not like recently as in its just started… but within the last couple of months-"

"Young man, it's none of your business! There is nothing wrong with me!"

"But I just thought-"

"Exactly! You thought there was something wrong with me!"

"You're denying-"

"Shut up!" Matthew was taken aback but by no means was he about to drop this. He was absolutely sure Arthur was hiding something.

"Did… did something happen between you and Al?"

_**Not yet…**_ "No. Whatever happened or happens is none of your concern. So do us a favour, Matthew, and wind your neck in."

Dead-panning into a silence Matthew looked away as Arthur drew his knees up and pulled the blanket further over his small self.

The Canadian boy wanted to add to what he'd already said only to quickly decide reasoning was useless. If Iain was here he was certain Arthur wouldn't have snapped like he had.

The sound of the doorbell was enough to make them both jump. The doorbell was pressed impatiently, again and again. There was no indication that either picked up on that told them that Iain or Alfred or any of the others were going to answer it.

_Ding dong. Ding dong, ding dong._

Matthew looked over at his former carer with gentle eyes. The man had begun to read from a book with no signs that he'd move so Matthew took it upon himself to go instead. He stretched the large t-shirt over his stomach simply to reassure himself that he was well-covered enough to answer the door. He left Arthur to himself and walked out to the foyer where he was greeted by another doorbell chime.

There was no peep hole so it was impossible to tell who it was. Matthew knew that it wouldn't be the postman – he only came in the mornings and there was no way a professional in his job would incessantly press the bell in such a manner. Perhaps either Wales or Northern Ireland had gotten locked outside as the result of a practical joke from the other? Yep, they were most definitely drunk.

Matthew gave his shirt another tug, then he turned the key in its lock and pulled the door open.

"H-hello-"

Matthew found himself being knocked a step back as the door flew open. Long slender arms wound their way around his self, catching him, one going behind his back and the other cradling his head and the back of his neck.

"Mattie~! I missed you!"

Ruby-like eyes glistened and Matthew felt the warmth of an unwanted blush wash over his cheeks.

"G-Gilbert? What're y-you doing here?"

"I came to see you, mein _Liebling_~" Gilbert said as Matthew finished prying him from his body. "You didn't show up at the meeting so I said I'd bring the notes over. I really wanted to see you und Ben... maybe we could get some dinner somewhere? Tonight?"

"This can't work, you know. We've already discussed this, Gil. I'm with Iain now…" Matthew shook his head, a little quick shake. He truly believed that Iain loved and wanted him the same way Gilbert did and the same way Ivan had lusted over him every night he'd been forced to stay. It didn't occur to him that it might be a sham of any sort. In that sense he was innocent, blissfully ignorant and very happy.

Gilbert apparently didn't hear him. Scrawny pale hands took ahold of Matthew's, pulling him closer with a little squeeze. Matthew tilted his head forward, his bangs falling over his eyes and saving him the need to close them before they met with Gilbert's. The Prussian allowed his moment of sweetness to last a little longer. It was the first time he'd been able to see the young Canadian in quite a while. His eyes, sweet and longing, fell to look at those soft pink lips, no doubt in his mind that the Scotsman had already had his share of fun with them, and quite possibly with the rest of Matthew's body too. A hint of jealously sparkled in those round, beautiful rubies.

It was that temptation, that moment of desire that made Gilbert swoop forward; bringing an arm around Matthew's back using his other arm now to guide Matthew's head, the Prussian man captured Matthew's lips in a hot kiss.

"Gil-**_mm_**!" Matthew tried to pull his head away but Gilbert's hand kept him in place forcing him to accept the strong contact. Funnily enough Gilbert felt ever so warm… it was nice. Pleasant, even. But Matthew didn't allow this to cloud his senses.

He found his chance to intercept when Gilbert pulled away for a breath. He quickly slipped his hands onto Gilbert's chest and pushed. Gilbert's own arms kept him firmly anchored, however, though the gesture did make him reconsider going again.

"_Liebe_?"

"Gilbert… you can't do this… please, just go."

"What thee fuck is goin' on here?" Gilbert glanced over his shoulder. Iain was approaching from around the house, wearing a lightweight rain coat to protect him against the chilly Spring air. His boots crunched noisily over the gravel as he advanced nearer. Matthew wriggled out of Gilbert's arms and gave him a light push on the shoulder. He hoped Iain hadn't seen that and instead decided that this was the only way he could get Gilbert out unharmed.

"Iain, its fine! Gilbert was just leaving."

"I should hope so. Fuck off, arsehole, an' leave us alone."

"Nice mouth you got there, _Wichser_! You kiss your mother with it?" Very quickly Gilbert found himself being hoisted up by the front of his shirt until his face was nearly touching Iain's. Apparently he'd struck a nerve, but which the Prussian wasn't certain.

"Wanna repeat that, sunshine? Or would ye like a kick in thee teeth?" The Prussian snapped his jaw shut, gritting those threatened enamels, grinding softly. The Scotsman was rather tall, moreso than either America or Germany, so Gilbert had to force himself up onto his tippy-toes just to break even with the height difference.

"I said," He growled softly, refraining himself from launching a punch directly to his nose. "I can't go anywhere because I don't have a car… or any money, so I can't pay for a hotel."

"That ain't my problem," Iain uncurled the hand that held Gilbert, though he remained suspicious that he was lying about what he'd said just now. "Fuck. Off."

Iain began shoving Gilbert away, keeping himself between the pregnant Canadian and Gilbert, who stubbornly planted his feet into the ground. Growling, Iain was about ready to give him a swift upper-cut kick to the stomach when Matthew bounced forward and grasped his arm in both hands.

"Iain don't! There's no reason he can't stay, is there? I mean, if he hasn't got any means of transport or any accommodation…" Gilbert's eyes lit up at the chance of Matthew's hopeful words.

"Even if we did there are no extra beds. Francis is sleepin' on thee couch as it is."

"I could sleep rough on the floor?" Gilbert intervened. He wouldn't let this chance slip.

Iain cast the albino a tricky look. He figured that if he did decide to let this slick little bastard to stay, it could very well jeopardize his whole deal with Matthew's brother.

Before he could even come to a decision the heavens opened. The rain came down hard and heavy, fat cold droplets that soaked the party of three very quickly. Iain pulled Matthew close, urging him forward.

"Alright, time to go inside, boys. C'mon, hurry, hurry! I'm gettin' wet!" Matthew allowed himself to be guided back inside the mansion. With only one of Alfred's too-big shirts hanging off his shoulders and a pair of track pants on his legs, the light material became very wet very quickly, the grey fabric of the shirt becoming covered in hundreds of darker spots where the rain landed. Gilbert on the other hand was reasonably well-covered with a short black trench coat left unbuttoned over some rather casual attire – it at least made him look as though he hadn't been anywhere of importance.

Icy droplets drained from Matthew's head, down the back of his neck and then proceeding to trace the small of his back, eliciting the occasional shiver when the water rushed over a particularly sensitive spot.

Gilbert noticed the slight shivers as he hung his coat up and removed his boots by the front door. He longed to wrap his wind his arms around that gradually thickening figure. He imagined that by now Matthew's belly was a reasonable size with the weight of the child adding to his own. The shirt was doing a good job at covering him so far but now it was only a matter of weeks before that waistline ballooned into something else.

A single warning glance sent from Iain when the Canadian had his back turned deterred Gilbert – for about five seconds. And unless he wished to risk his health he daren't try anything whilst the Scotsman's arm was possessively around Matthew. He noticed that the Scot's hand never wandered below the waist, nor any sign of him trying to lustfully grope at his ass. No matter how much Gilbert (discretely) stared and wondered if it would happen, it simply didn't. If he wasn't such a bastard, Gilbert would've guessed that Iain was simply trying to be a gentleman.

"Who was it?" Came Arthur's voice from the living room. The Brit had heard voices made muffled by the walls that stood between him and them and was beginning to grow restless.

"Nobody important." Iain replied sourly, indicating for Matthew to go and join his brother with a gentle nudge.

"I beg to differ!_ I_ am the awesome-me!" Gilbert lunged in after Matthew only for Iain to quickly catch him by the arm, and using the momentum of his step, pulled the albino back out into the hallway. Iain leaned forward to close the living room condemning before turning back to Gilbert. There was something off about the Scotsman that Gilbert didn't like – apart from his apparent foul temper and lack of a sense of humour.

"Alright, listen up, sunshine," Iain began in a hushed snarl after dragging Gilbert somewhere more private. "Matt dun't want ye anymore. Ye lost yer chance when ye rejected him for havin' this baby. An' ye know damn well that none of this was his fault."

"He told you?"

"Why shouldn't he? I ain't gonna go off me head about it. I'm helpin' him get through this. I'm doin' ye a favour an' lettin' ye stay for a bit just to see Ben. After that, go back t' the shithole you call home an' don't come back here." Iain replied meaningfully, a tricky smile forming on his chapped lips. A smile that made Gilbert wonder and narrow his eyes.

"_Nein_. I don't believe you. One way or another, I'm getting him _und mein_ children back… _und_ you're not stopping me." Gilbert ripped his arm away from the loose hold of Iain's gnarled hand. He turned to leave the quiet little space at the bottom of the staircase, wanting nothing more to snuggle up beside Matthew with hopes of reconciliation.

The Scotsman leisurely reached into the pocket of his uniform pocket, his fingers rooting for the packet of cigarettes and the fluid lighter he kept stashed. He picked one of the ready-rolled sticks and pushed it to his lips.

"Yer 'children'? Ye only have _one_, stupid fuck-wit." Iain reminded him, flicking the button of the small lighter until the end of the cigarette was smouldering with a satisfying blue-grey smoke trailing out. He strolled over towards the door and opened it up, exhaling the first lungful of smoke out into the rain.

Gilbert stood by the living room door with his hand enclosed over the handle. He sadly glanced back at Iain but he didn't want to say anything that might satisfy the man. Iain wasn't even looking at him – the world outside with its downpour and gusty winds seemed more interesting than the albino man. If Iain had tried to provoke him, it didn't work.

Just as Gilbert was about to enter the room Iain momentarily stopped him again with harsh words.

"I suggest ye get yerself a new piece of ass, cos this one's taken." And Gilbert longed that Iain would soon be on the receiving end of that statement soon enough.

Gilbert placed his free hand flat against the door, the taking a tight hold on the cold brass doorknob and twisting it sharply to the side. The door looked very old and antique as did most things in the household. It gave the old building a very traditional feel to it that Gilbert somehow felt he could appreciate it.

"Mattie, I-"

"Do you mind? _Mathieu_ and _Angleterre_ are trying to sleep! Wait. Is that you, _mon amis_?" Gilbert flinched when he heard a softly-spoken masculine voice with a distinct but smooth Frenchy undertone immediately scold him. Then when he looked up he was surprised to see Francis kneeling by the couch at Arthur's feet.

"Uh… _ja_, it's the awesome me!" Gilbert knocked his voice down by a few notches. Matthew was lying back against the couch cushion, pink lips parted and quilt pulled up to his neck. The bump on his stomach looked much more obvious from this angle. Still despite Matthew's cuteness to the Prussian, he couldn't help but feel a little bit hurt.

"I was already in 'ere. _Petit_ came in and fell straight asleep, poor _bébé_." Francis explain, getting to his feet only to perch himself on the arm of the couch, crossing his arms against his chest. Gilbert couldn't help but notice that he wasn't wearing the usual capelet and bright red pants or suit, but rather a casual dress shirt with the sleeves rolled and ordinary pants.

"You're staying here…?"

"Ah _oui_. But, _Angleterre's_ brothers are taking up the spare bed so I 'ave been using the sofa. You're not staying over as well, are you?"

"It's not like I didn't think about it. But Mattie's birthday's coming up und I wanted to drop his present off… maybe stay a little while until I can get West to wire me some money for another plane ticket. I spent all I had getting here alone."

Francis nodded with an understanding smile. He lightly tapped his lips with a single index finger, indicating that the albino had spoken too loudly once again before directing the same digit towards the Englishman and Canadian.

"They 'aven't been sleeping well lately… so let's 'ave a little consideration and leave them be, okay? Benjamin is fast asleep upstairs. I could take you to see 'im if you'd like?"

"_Nein... _it's fine. I don't want to wake him. Babies need lots of sleep, right?"  
So the Frenchman lead his friend out into the kitchen where the elder three Kirkland brothers and Alfred were, seated at the small kitchen table that Arthur only used when company was minimal. The four of them were seated with a pack of playing cards shared between themselves in a game of 'Go Fish'. Every now and again one of them took a swig from their own mugs of hot, sweet tea or coffee before taking or giving cards throughout the game. Dylan and Shane looked like pure hell; their eyes looked shady and dull, their cheeks a little bit darker as the last remnants of booze in their systems were slowly replaced by caffeine. Every now and again Shane hiccupped, greatly regretting downing those bottles of gin and whiskey he and Dylan had nicked from the upstairs liquor cabinet in Arthur's study. Frankly, Iain couldn't care less and had it already in his head that the chestnut and ginger-haired men were to be shipped back to their respectable homes by the time the day was done.

Francis helped himself to the kettle and brewed up another two cups of coffee – one black with a bit of honey to sweeten it, the other milky with three heaped teaspoons of sugar.  
He handed Gilbert the milky coffee and the pair left for the dining room.

* * *

Francis tried to pass the time by striking up a conversation with Gilbert. He tried bringing Italy and Germany into it, as well as the meeting the family had missed. Gilbert had absently produced an envelope containing some hand-copied notes and didn't say much else. The glum look on the albino's pale features with the pouty lips and half-lidded eyes was enough to tell the Frenchie that his friend wasn't interested. He simply glowered into the bottom of his mug after knocking back the last few drops and thrust it back down with a loud 'clunk'. The paler man seemed to be in deep thought, eyes glassy and deep.

"Would you like ano-"

"_Nein! Nein_… I'm fine, thanks…" Gilbert toyed with the mug, hooking his fingers through the looping handle and dragging it back and forth, back and forth, and so on, anything to distract him from the subtle look of bother on the other's face. Francis wearily stroked his chin with a finger and thumb, drawing it down until he held his jaw between the digits, the index finger on the other hand softly tapping the table-top in a steady rhythm. He took note that at some point his beard would need a bit of a trim seeing as it he hadn't been able to tend to it as of recently.

"You must understand that I cannot and will not dictate whom _Mathieu_ chooses to be with, _mon amis_." Said Francis finally. Gilbert glanced up rather sharply, a look of annoyance hinted in his unnaturally red eyes.

"I-I know! But it's not fair! I should be the one with him, not that **red-haired shithead**!" Gilbert banged a fist on the table, jolting the mugs.

"Calm down, _mon amis_! Think about _Mathieu's_ 'appiness rather than your own for a minute… Benjamin's too. The day after we left you in Berlin, 'e still couldn't stop telling me about 'ow 'e missed you with all 'is 'eart whilst that good-for-nothing Ivan mistreated 'im, only for you to break and throw away the love 'e tried to give back to you!" The tone in Francis' voice cracked as he neared the end. He snatched up his mug and swallowed the last of the dark liquid that by now had grown rather cold, grimacing at the unpleasant taste.

"I'm sorry, Francis… I really am. Look, I want to make it up to him; I promise I can do it! That… that guy, Scotland… he doesn't love Mattie! Mattie needs someone awesome!"

"_Mathieu_ is rather captivated by Iain, Gilbert… though I can't disagree with you that 'e isn't overly affectionate in front of us. At the end of the day if my little boy is 'appy, so am I, and that's all there is to it."

"He doesn't look like the type that likes guys. It's not fair! Francis, what's this guy got that the awesome-me hasn't?"

"Oh, many things, _mon amis_. Citizens, for instance."

"I have citizens! The citizens of Prussia _und_ Germany are my subjects!"

"I don't think a battered old alleycat, a little yellow bird and the followers on that blog of your's count."

"…I've got money and a house…"

"You live in your brother's attic living off of the money you steal from 'is wallet." Gilbert leaned forward with a finger pointed at his French friend's face, a grin on his own that simply read 'Aha! Caught you out!'

"_Kesesese_! That's where you're wrong ~"

"Oh? Do tell."

"West threatened that if I kept taking his cash he'd throw me out. So I got a job in a café in Berlin. The pay's pretty crappy… but I've been saving up for something really,_ really_ special for Mattie."

This bit of tantalising news caused Francis to lean in on his elbows, a curious look bestowing his features, his interest obviously captured.

"Really? Like what?"

"It's a _secret_."


	18. Cake And Alfred

**Chapter 17:**** Cake And Alfred**

**Date:**** 1st July, 2013 (July, part 1)**

* * *

Alfred liked to think that he was well aware of everything that went on in the so-called close-knit community of the household. He seemed to have picked up on the behaviour of his little brother and had begun to act accordingly – when around both Iain and Gilbert, Matthew would become withdrawn and soft-spoken. So naturally wanting to be the hero Alfred intercepted the conversations often, tearing it away from Matthew and letting any disputes fall between the Scot and Prussian before they started. And for once Matthew was grateful for his brother to hog much of the attention.

There was something else he noticed as well about Arthur. Three things, actually: one was that the man had steadily put on a bit of weight with the belly to show. Alfred thought this was simply due to the larger intake of food his lover was having, expanding to up to three full square meals a day and small snacks in-between.

The other was the odd mood swings Arthur had been experiencing. One minute the Briton would be cuddling up to his side, requesting in a cute needy voice to be hugged and petted or for the American to rub his shoulders or belly, and then the next thing he knew Alfred would be pushed from the room for whatever reason – for when Arthur was well and truly upset, he had a tendency to screech. Even the tiniest of snide or playful remarks would be blown out of proportion.

The final strange thing noticed about Arthur was that the older blonde was easy to tire. He was spending a good portion of his most recent days napping somewhere peaceful or simply resting with a book or his embroidery. He still tried to assist in his share of housework until Francis or Iain would send him away to rest – for they seemed to know something that Alfred didn't.

Day after day Arthur put off telling Alfred that he was carrying a child with a nameless father, until eventually, Matthew's birthday rolled in and Arthur considered announcing it then. Shane and Dylan had left the day before, leaving the Englishman with the rest of the family. This also freed up the sofa bed in the other guest room so Francis and Gilbert agreed on a 'no-touchy' policy and shared it.

Later Francis had gone out with Alfred for a day-trip to London to buy presents and birthday feast food; and then after the third shop Alfred had been momentarily asked to entertain himself whilst the Frenchman shopped for his birthday gift, seeing as it was only a few days after Matthew's. When they returned the appropriate gifts were wrapped for the next day and were hidden from the soon-to-be birthday boys. Gilbert had presented his own gift although Francis was certain this wasn't the 'secret' he'd been boasting to him about two weeks prior.

Matthew's birthday had been great fun; Gilbert baked a deliciously sickly maple cake with a marzipan Canadian flag design on top that he was ever so proud of. Francis and Iain cooked the rest of the birthday supper. Then after they ate and presents were opened, they spent the evening watching movies with popcorn and candy. When Matthew and Benjamin fell asleep on the couch Iain carried them to bed where they both remained for the rest of the evening, Iain included. It was lovely… for everyone except Gilbert.

* * *

The Prussian man couldn't sleep that night. He tossed and turned in bed until 11:30pm when Francis kicked him out, the demand for him to pop a few sleeping pills were the last words spoken to him turning his back and dropping back off to sleep. The Frenchman had tilted back a glass of pricey wine too many and his head was taking the weight of the regret.

Gilbert fumbled around in the bathroom to no avail. So he took himself downstairs into the kitchen to locate the bottle of drugs that would help him drift into a delightful bliss. Instead, he found the kitchen light on and Alfred. The American was raiding the fridge, carelessly clinking bottles and jars of this and that, and rustling packets and bags of leftovers.

Gilbert hung about the door. He watched Alfred for a minute more. The young man was dressed in a simple tank top and boxer shorts, and was apparently oblivious to the other's presence.

"What the hell are you doing?" The Prussian finally asked, strolling over the small kitchen table and scraping back a chair to sit on. Alfred jumped, smacking his head on the upper frame of the fridge. A groan slipped loose as the young man back out of the fridge with several bits and pieces in-arm.

"Aw… dude, you scared the crap outta me!" Alfred grinned sheepishly, unloading his cargo of food on the table top. "I, err, got hungry so I came down to grab a midnight snack. What about you?"

The older man perched his head of platinum-white in his hand as he gazed up at the younger blonde. With the other hand he reached out to poke some of the 'snack' ingredients.

"Jam… cold-cuts… cheese… you're not making a sandwich, are you…?"

"Uh… no. I was just gonna chow down on a few things… want something? There's still a ton of cake." Alfred, who'd returned to the fridge, turned with the plastic box containing the leftover birthday cake. He put the cake on the work top and went about cutting a piece with a knife swiped from the draining board.

"I'm good, thanks. Francis kicked me out because I wouldn't go to sleep. D'you know where the sleeping pills are?"

"If they're not in the bathroom then I dunno where they'd be. Here, have something to eat!" Alfred held out a plate with a piece of the sweet spongy dessert that had been lovingly made nearly twelve hours before. "Eating something good before bed always helps me to fall asleep." Gilbert reluctantly took the plate and the fork offered.

Alfred cut himself a piece and tidied everything else away. The two sat on either side of the table, munching away, more or less in silence. Every now and again Gilbert raised his head to look out of the kitchen window to the dark world outside. A soft trickling was heard as water cascaded down the glass told Gilbert that it was once again raining though thankfully it wasn't heavy rain. Cold perhaps and one that would probably stretch out until the forbidding hours of the night and possibly into the morning as well.

The kitchen window overlooked the back garden. It was a beautiful patch of land, left unfenced and exposed to the British wilderness of the local forest that sat at its edge. It wasn't uncommon for a little fallow deer or a wild rabbit to encroach on the garden where it'd peacefully graze on the uncut lawn. Arthur didn't spend enough time in this country house of his to dote on his gardens properly and although lately he had probably had enough chances in the sparse sunlight to do the odd bit of weeding or planting, he hadn't. And he didn't wish to spend a fortune paying for a gardener either; a waste of money for something he could easily do himself provided he had the time.

"What're you looking at? Somethin' out there?" Alfred inquired curiously, following Gilbert's gaze.

"Nah… just rain. Stupid, stupid rain." Gilbert violently stabbed his fork into his cake, just for something to vent at. He hoped that maybe if he acted this way Alfred would question him to what was wrong, figuring that maybe if he could get his feelings out of his head he would be able to sleep.

"Yeah, well that's Britain for ya. Hey, dude? Have you noticed anything a little bit off about Arthur?" Gilbert left his fork standing in the cake.

"_Nein_, why?"

"Ah… he just seems to be acting even more of a boring old man than usual lately. One second he's wanting me to go suck myself and then the next he won't leave me alone!"

"Boo-hoo."

"And he's put on a crap load of weight!" Alfred shovelled in another cakey mouthful, crumbs sprinkled around his chops. He held his hands out to show a slightly exaggerated illustration of Arthur's stomach size before going on to openly explain how Arthur had been on and off with sex or much intimate contact. Gilbert listened quietly.

"At least you've got him. What've I got? Nothing. Fuck, Francis was right. I don't have anything. "

"But… you've got a kid, right? And a brother… they're not 'nothing'."

"West is a great brother but I'm not. I just need to face the fact that Benjamin is going to grow up thinking Scotland's his Vati, not me. _Und_ same goes for the other kid."

"Hey! I know my lil' bro and he won't let Benny forget you, y'know! Don't be such a freakin' pessimist!"

"But I want to be with them… him and the kids. I want to pretend that none of that crap happened six months ago… I'd give anything to make things go back to the way they were… before that vodka-bastard got in the damn way! It's not fair!"

"So… you'd do anything to make him happy?"

"_Ja_. But Scotland won't let me anywhere near him. I can't talk to Matthew if he won't let me, so there's not an itty bitty chance. Un-awesome, right?"

Alfred considered what Gilbert said throughout the long silence that followed. The American made himself up a glass of strawberry milk in the meanwhile to give himself a little bit of time to think. He chugged the lot and wiped the pink liquid that had resided above his lip.

"Well, listen dude. What if I did you a super awesome favour? Since that that's the kind of hero-dude I am." Gilbert met the younger man's gaze, his own very wary and suspicious.

"Like what?"

"Like, I talk to Iain. I'll tell him to back off and then you can have Mattie all to yourself."

"_Und_…?"

"And what?"

"There's always a catch with deals like this. So what's your's?" Alfred kept up the stupid grin but for some reason it was beginning to look a little bit dubious now. As if he knew something that Gilbert didn't… which he did. He knew very well that he could simply lay Iain off.

He had it all planned in his head: Iain would quickly lose interest in Matthew when his income was cut, leading Matthew into heartbreak soon after giving birth. Before, Alfred didn't have a clue what he would've done at that point. He would have been stuck with an emotional mess of a brother and two kids. But if Gilbert was here the then he would swoop in Matthew would be happy and the children no longer father-less. Matthew would be saved.

"You gotta keep Mattie happy. If he cries even once because of you, I'm kicking your lil' albino ass. Got it?" Gilbert nodded vigorously.

"_Ja, ja_! You don't need to tell the awesomeness-that-is-me twice!"

"Yeah, but you gotta promise something, alright?"

"_Ja_, anything!"

"No matter how the kid my bro's carrying turns out, you've gotta do right for them both. Ben too. I'm still their super cool hero uncle and I'm not going to let you do anything to hurt them again. And that means no cheating on him either. Ever! If you do, I'm sticking my foot so far up your ass-"

"Alfred…? Why're up…?" The blonde and the albino turned to see Arthur leaning against the doorframe, one hand propping him whilst he rubbed his eyes with the other. Alfred hurried over just as his little Brit decided to stumble forward, his movements made all the more clumsier and un-coordinated by the fact that he was still half asleep. Although he was unaware of his love's pregnancy Alfred still worried that the older man might trip and fall forward.

Alfred ghosted his hands up the length of Arthur's slender arms , climbing them up and over his shoulders. He was pulled close until their foreheads touched. It was this contact that took Alfred by surprise despite him being the initiator; Arthur felt unusually warm, and up close he could see the man's cheeks were dusted with pink, his green eyes hooded and glassy.

"Hey… I thought you were asleep?" Alfred whispered softly, just enough for only they could hear.

"… Woke up to use the loo an' you weren't there…"

"It's okay. I was just getting a snack."

"Mm… 'kay. Come back to bed now, please?" Arthur turned to wander back up the hallway until a large gentle hand stopped him by taking his hand.

"Hold on a second… hey Gilbert, we're gonna go back upstairs now. D'you think you could…?" Gilbert waved them off with his hand. He already set about gathering the dirty dishes. He still wasn't tired and he felt that if this was the case he decided he might as well wash up.

"Yeah, yeah. See you guys in the morning. _Gute Nacht_."

Alfred had to carry Arthur back upstairs and along the hallways. He didn't fancy having to deal with any scraped knees or bumped elbows because the Englishman was too dopey in this state of fatigue to properly pick his feet up, and he knew all too well that Arthur would be the one to get stroppy if he woke up in the morning bruised and sore.

Once they were safely back in the master bedroom Alfred quickly realised that Arthur had nodded off again and was snoring peacefully in his arms. Without even bothering to turn on a light, Alfred peeled back the covers of their shared bed and carefully set Arthur in, tugging the duvet back up to his chin. He wandered over to the window and pulled back the curtains. The room immediately became flooded with the soft white light of the moon, shallow and pale. Alfred sighed, taking the time to enjoy it's haunting beauty. The dark clouds had momentarily receded back after being purged of every last drop of rain to spare and were now but wispy tendrils that lingered in the sky, blocking the beckoning sky in a veil of translucence.

Alfred stood like this a moment more. Then he eased open the window to try and get some cool air circulating, hoping it'd help to bring Arthur's temperature down without making him too uncomfortable.

When he too was beneath the lightweight duvet he slipped an arm under Arthur and gently drew him close – he enjoyed being Arthur's human pillow although it did ache his shoulder and leave his arm numb by the morning. But more than often the Brit would snuggle close with his cheek lying flat against his chest, taking advantage of his liberties as anyone else would. The fact that Arthur always fell asleep first was nice too in most given situations – Alfred knew then that Arthur was relaxed, safe and comfortable with no reason to get up. And should he need a glass of water to quench a middle-of-the-night thirst, a glass of water would be bought up to sit on the night stand until required. Strangely, Arthur had started keeping small boxes of plain crackers or biscuits there also after claiming it helped to settle his morning queasiness. Alfred did question it once or twice but never thought much of it.

Alfred leaned in to press a kiss on Arthur's warm cheek. He sank deep down into the covers; arms working to wrap Arthur in an affectionate hug, like the Brit was a big plush teddy bear and Alfred were a child. One hand made its way to Arthur's tummy and automatically the palm spread open to accommodate the expanse of the abdomen.

"You make such a cute chubby guy~" Alfred whisper-giggled, moving his hand to cover the belly-button. Offering one last nuzzle that wouldn't be returned even if he asked, Alfred pushed his cheek against the top of Arthur's head and drifted off back to sleep.

* * *

**Date:**** 2nd July, 2013**

* * *

"Mm… good morning, sweetheart. Sorry, I woke you, didn't I?" Soft green eyes flickered at the words as Arthur willed himself to drift back to sleep. The curtains were still open and were inviting a gorgeous morning light to flood the room, which unluckily for Arthur meant going back to sleep was no menial task.

"No… no, you didn't… g'morning." Alfred was allowed to help Arthur sit up against the pillows using him as a means of leaning against. Then with Arthur tucked safely against his side with an arm across his shoulders, Alfred leaned over to retrieve the glass of water from the nightstand and the packet of cracker bread from the drawer.

Alfred finished off what was left of the water and the cracker that had only been nibbled. Whilst he crunched the cracker Arthur decided to cuddle back up with a murmur of "You're getting squishy."

With a wholehearted laugh Alfred wiped the crumbs from his lips.

"You're a fine one to talk!" And he prodded his boyfriend's belly. "You've been eating like a pig!" A deep blush settled across the bridge of Arthur's nose as Alfred began another round of laughter. The Brit managed a small but awkward giggle of his own.

"Shut up stupid and come here."

He inched closer, pulling his head away and brought himself up until Alfred's lips were level with his. In no time at all Alfred found the little Brit straddling his lap, his eyes widening and then closing as he sank into the kiss that nearly immediately followed.

Arthur played with Alfred's mouth with his tongue, licking and moaning sweetly. The roundness of his belly made sitting like this rather uncomfortable and Arthur really did feel as though he wouldn't be doing his child or himself any favours if he kept this up much longer.

Alfred's hands snaked up behind to grab himself some of that cute English backside. He groped wantonly, lavishing in the soft moans of approval that hadn't been heard for quite some time.

"About freakin' time… frigid old man." The American panted once they broke the kiss with a soft gasp, only for he himself to commence another round of open-mouthed attacks on the other's wanting lips. He gradually pulled Arthur closer to which the other didn't refuse but instead pressed a hand on the headboard of the bed behind Alfred to steady himself.

Arthur retaliated to Alfred's earlier comment by leaning in and nipping his bottom lip with a healthy and playful in-the-moment annoyance that often surfaced whenever they made love. Alfred let out a soft gasp of mixed surprise and hurt, the lust vanishing from his big baby blue eyes. Then when they met the gorgeous half-lidded green of Arthur's, he felt himself grow bold and the longing lust returned. Arthur's cheeks were red with a blush that made him look innocent and adorable, and this only made Alfred want him all the more.

Arthur shuffled a fraction closer until his belly was nestled into Alfred's chest, resting his chin on the flat of Alfred's shoulder, he paused briefly to enjoy the coolness of the other's skin. Alfred pushed his nose to meet the Briton's neck, breathing softly against the heated flesh with the occasional lick eliciting a few ticklish giggles from the unusually playful and compliant Arthur.

After another half minute or so of licking, Alfred closed his mouth over a patch of skin, sucking and nibbling. Arthur mewled as his neck was given love – a good indication to urge the younger blonde to keep at it.

Finally he pulled away with only a thin strand of saliva connecting the two, where an angry red mark stood out on pale skin, gleaming with wetness, crowned with a semi-circle of teeth marks.

"You wanna do it?" The purr in Alfred's voice alone almost seemed like too good a turn on to deny. Arthur first had to work some spit into his mouth in order to speak, for his throat had grown dry in his wanton need.

"Yes… I want it." Alfred chuckled. He released a hand from the other's backside and brought it up to stroke the other's messy blonde bed-head.

"We haven't done it in a while, y'know."

"Whose fault is that?"

"Your's. You've not been up to it… and the hero's always ready for action!"

"Oh, ha-ha," Arthur pecked his lips. "I've had my reasons… I need to talk to you later."

"Is it important?"

"Yes… but it can wait, can't it?"

"If it's something important then shouldn't we talk?" Arthur rolled his eyes and swooped in, this time capturing the American's lips in another rougher kiss. After a few agonising breaths they parted, panted and red-cheeked.

Before they could take it a step further Alfred's mobile phone bleeped an instrumental of 'Star Spangled Banner'.

With a slight grumble Alfred he reached for the device along with his glasses before slumping back into the pillows, accepting the phone call and momentarily propping it on his chest whilst he one-handedly slipped on his specs.

"Hey. America speaking. Who's this?"

A short pause.

"Oh…. Yep. Yep. Ah… yeah, I got it… Aw. Okay."

Another pause.

"Yes, I got it! Geez! Tell him I'll be there by five, got it? Good! Okay, bye."

Arthur frowned as his boyfriend ended the call and set his phone back down with a sigh.

"Are we having sex or not?"

"Sorry Artie… I guess not today. Or tomorrow. It's my boss. And apparently... he's pretty pissed."

"Wha…? Why? What's going on?"

"Ah something about not getting the freakin' notes from the last meeting. Now he wants me to deliver them in person before I 'screw up' again. And then he wants me to stay for a couple of weeks at least to sort some business out… he wants me to represent Canada during a 'little' meeting between Russia's boss, mine and Matt's bosses."

Alfred leaned forward. He brought Arthur into a reassuring embrace with a pat to his back.

"I'm sorry. You could come with me if you want. They said they've secured a plane ticket on this morning's flight to Washington so we could get you one too!"

"I… no… no, it's alright. Aha. D-do you have to go now?" Alfred eased Arthur off of his lap and back onto his side of the bed before throwing back the covers and jumping out.

"Yeah, but I gotta call a taxi first. I'm really sorry, y'know? The jet supposedly arrived an hour ago so I gotta get to Gatwick ASAP." When Alfred was done throwing on his bomber jacket over a shirt and some jeans, he quickly stuffed some extra clothes into a suitcase along with the screwed up hand copied notes Gilbert had provided and his digital devices. Arthur simply sat on the queen-sized bed, cross-legged and with a look that made it seem as though he was about to burst into tears.

"Aw… Artie, I'm sorry. Really, really, really sorry," It came out as more of a whisper, and without even thinking, the smaller, older nation was crushed into one of Alfred's meaningful apologetic hugs. "I'll call you as soon as I get back to DC, okay?"

"Okay…"

"And… maybe try to cut down a bit on sweets, 'kay? Fat isn't a good look for you." Alfred whipped his mobile out again, punched in the number for the taxi services and impatiently waited for the other end to pick up.

When Alfred finally arranged for the taxi and had hung up, he turned back to find Arthur huddled up and trembling. Alfred scooted next to him slinging an arm back around his shoulder and pulling him in to kiss those cheeks still glowing with a red blush he gave him a kiss on the nose.

"Alfred… Alfred, we need to talk. That important thing I was going on about earlier?"

"Yeah…?" A sinking feeling hit the pit of his stomach. A look of genuine concern lit Alfred's face. "I-is it serious? Bad?"

"It depends how you look at it… but it is pretty serious. Give me your hand." Arthur took the hand offered and laid it across his stomach. Arthur secured it there, his hand fastened over the larger one, the blush on his cheeks deepening.

"D… do you feel it?" Arthur asked just when he felt a strange fluttering movement, the feeling making him grunt a little. Alfred wore a concentrated frown. He flexed his fingers against the mound of belly.

"I guess so… what is it?" Taking a deep breath Arthur hesitated. He mentally reasoned that the sooner he said it the sooner he could get it over with, but nonetheless it was a tricky subject, one that in particular was rather emotional for him, so he instead chose to dance around the direct point.

"Alfred, do you remember when we got home after Matthew and Gilbert's Christmas party last year? When Matthew was still pregnant with Benjamin?" Thinking back Alfred remembered that night; the delicious lunch, the chatter and the jolly atmosphere – not to mention his brother announcing his pregnancy to the family. But he had slept since then and so his memory had faded considerably. He shook his head.

"Not really."

"Well, when we got home to your place, you asked if we could have a baby. I told you no every time but you persisted right up until we got Matthew back from Sweden."

Arthur could see the cogs turning, the understanding form on Alfred's face like written words on paper. And from this he could see the younger man piece together the acts of morning sickness, the weight gain and this information from months ago, realising what was being implied.

"Wait… so you're…?"

"Alfred, we're having a baby." Arthur was certain that puzzled frown would worsen at any second. Thankfully after only a matter of seconds the frown vanished and Arthur found himself being crushed into a hug.

"That's totally the best freakin' news I've heard in weeks! I'm gonna be a daddy!"

"Alfred! Get off!" Arthur struggled when the hold became too tight to bear. "You're going to hurt the baby! Off!"

Alfred gave one more gentle squeeze before letting go. Instead of backing off though he brought a hand to Arthur's left cheek and guided him to his lips.

"Nine months of fun for us. Hey, let's call it 'Roger', okay? You don't hear anyone called Roger nowadays… it's cool!"

"S-slow down…! Listen luv, I know you're excited but I'm already five months along… I think I'm due mid-November. Y-you don't get to be this size at only a couple of weeks, I hope you realise."

"You're kidding?" A shake of Arthur's head and a weak smile confirmed this. Alfred clasped Arthur's hands in his own, feeling the clammy warmth radiate from the older blonde. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Because I only found out in May when the doctor visited. I didn't want to tell you because I didn't know how you'd react… I assumed the worst." Arthur leaned forward. He shamefully buried his forehead into the American's chest where he choked back a few sniffles yet a wonky smile remained on his lips. "…We can keep it, can't we?"

Very gently Alfred brushed back some of the fringe from Arthur's eyes and whispered, "What makes you think that we can't?"

"I just wanted to make sure. I-I don't want to lose this one."

Alfred nodded. The knowing was a little overwhelming; it hadn't quite sunk in, yet it was lovely at the same time. He pulled Arthur on his lap and held him close with one arm, his chin perched atop the Briton's head to keep him steady as well as to serve as a means of comfort. The other arm slipped beneath that oversized shirt to feel that cute British belly. Arthur held Alfred's wrist and hand simply out of fear that the boisterous young man might press a bit too hard. But Arthur needn't worry. Alfred was gentle, delighting in the soft fluttery sensations that moved beneath his palm, though unsure to whether the movement he felt was that of the baby or the rumblings of Arthur's hungry gut.

The coolness of Alfred's palm stimulated a delicious shiver from Arthur. The little groans of approval were enough to urge Alfred into tenderly rubbing that swollen bump, massaging and squeezing with a loving touch.

"You know what?" Alfred whispered, moving his face to nuzzle Arthur's cheek. "I think I'm gonna call my boss."

"Mm… what for?"

"I dunno. Maybe I could convince him to let me fax the meeting notes over and to see if he can postpone the meeting with Russia's boss. Then maybe we could spend all the time in the world together." Daring to crack a small mischievous smile Arthur leant into the affections. Despite how happy he felt Arthur's eyes watered with fresh tears pricking at the edges. Thanks to years of experience though, he managed to keep them at bay with a well-disguised sniffle.

"I'll fax them. I don't want you to break the machine again like you did last time, you stupid git." Nowadays in the insult 'git' had become more of an endearment more than anything in Alfred's everyday life, especially when Arthur spoke in such a wholesome manner.

"…I love you."

"I love you too, sweetheart. And don't worry; I'm not gonna let you raise junior alone, ya hear?"

"Mm… thank you."

"Does anyone else know?" Alfred asked, running a single finger over the tender bite he'd left at the base of his lover's throat. Arthur had gotten this far with success so he spoke truthfully though his voice shook.

"I… I told Francis… and Iain… well… they kind of got it out of me. Francis pried and Iain found the pregnancy test… you're not upset are you…? I wanted you to be the first one to know, I really did!"

"It's okay. I believe you, sweetheart."

Arthur didn't look convinced, but then again his emotions were probably running him off again. His gaze fell to round child-bearing stomach. Alfred leaned in and pressed a firm kiss to his lips. He then when onto planting a trail of soft kisses down along Arthur's jawline, going from his ear (where he momentarily paused to teasingly breath on the lobe with cool breath) and then down the front of his throat to his collar bone. Alfred took two digits and hooked the front of Arthur's baggy shirt, pulling it away to reveal the smooth dainty skin of his lover's front, unmarked and made pale from months of sexual neglect.

Alfred brought his lips to the defined ridge of Arthur's collarbone, a hand slipping behind the Briton to ease him gently back onto the bed whilst he worked a long, mouthy and very much overdue kiss. A soft wanton moan slipped from the Brit's lips as he rose his own arms to grasp Alfred's shoulders, holding him a safe distance over his stomach until he took his own weight.

"D'you like it when I kiss you here?"

"Mm-hm."

Alfred smirked, not the least bit shy as he yanked off Arthur's shirt and bent to pepper some more kisses along the swollen middle. "What about here?"

"…Ngh… d-don't… Alfred… it tickles." Alfred couldn't help but grin when he felt the little Briton squirm beneath him with a childish squee.

"Sorry babe. Want me to stop?"

"I-i-idiot… no. Keep going. No, w-wait!" Arthur suddenly pushed Alfred, prompting the American to get up from his boyfriend to sit at his side.

"What's wrong? Sex won't hurt the baby, will it?"

"No, of course not. But… what about your boss? You can't let yourself get into any more trouble… you need to get ready for your trip."

"Aw… sweetheart. I said I'd stay for you and junior, didn't I?"

"Yes. Think about it though; we'll still be here when you get back in a couple of weeks. We can still talk on the phone, and if I can get the hang of it, I could use that new webcam you installed for me. Francis can help me in the meantime."

Alfred cupped Arthur's cheek in his hand. They were both still very red and but the air that had been circulating around the bedroom made him feel a little bit cooler, particularly now that he wore only his boxer shorts.

Mossy green stared at the azure blue orbs that hid behind spotless specs, shimmering beautiful like a pool of green light. Alfred knew Arthur was right; he'd been slacking off his duties recently.

"Alright, fine," Alfred stroked back dirty-blonde fringe whilst helping Arthur to sit up. "But if there's a problem, call me, okay? I'll be back like a shot on the first plane to London, 'kay?"

"Okay." They both looked to the window when they heard a car honk. The taxi had arrived it seemed… a little earlier than wanted. Arthur slipped his shirt back on and drew a hand to his belly.

"Good. I love you so much, and I'll call you as soon as, I promise," Alfred gave him one last hug and a peck on the lips before snatching up the suitcase and slipping on his trainers. "I'll see you soon, sweetheart. Don't have that baby without me!"

"I won't. Love you too. You better come back safely."

"I will. Call you tonight. See ya."

"Bye, luv." And then he was gone.


	19. Melancholy

**Chapter 18:**** Melancholy**

**Date:**** 23rd July, 2013 (July, part 2)**

* * *

"Easy, _petit_. Don't wear yourself out."

"I'm fine, papa, don't worry."

Francis was helping Matthew to the house from the car; a strong yet fatherly arm supporting his young rounded body as they walked down the gravelled drive to the front door. Francis tried to encourage Matthew to take matters slowly; there was no rush. Bringing up the rear were Iain and Arthur, the red-head carrying a plastic carrier bag in one hand. Surprisingly even Arthur was wearing clothes that he would not normally wear, but because they'd taken a trip out to London for a doctor's appointment he supposed he'd need to wear a pair of jeans and a hoodie left behind by Alfred just to cover his prominent belly.

Not long after Alfred had left for Washington several weeks before, Matthew was told that he would also be an uncle at some point. It came to quite a surprise when Matthew replied that he knew that was what was going on, particularly when he caught Arthur taking some prenatal vitamins the week before.

However Francis had had quite enough of the two of them going without so much as calling a midwife or Dr Thompson for advice. It was an agreement between himself and Iain that finally urged the two to head out to have them pay a visit to the clinic.

_"Everything looks healthy."_ The midwife had told them despite the pair of 'mothers-to-be' (as Alfred called them) refusing any earlier check-ups. And now they were only just returning. Both Arthur and Matthew clutched little brown envelopes containing the images and results of their ultrasounds, but both fully aware that they were carrying healthy children. It was just a dire pity that Alfred couldn't have been there. The photos were the next best thing, Arthur said, along with the information that both children were well. Arthur was just pleased that even despite the few drinks he'd had and the several stolen smokes from Iain, the child seemed fine.

Meanwhile Gilbert was made to stay at home. It seemed that Alfred had forgotten his deal with the Prussian as Iain had only become more protective for Matthew's affection. Whilst Gilbert was profoundly upset with this he was only made more adamant with his efforts to keep trying.

In the meantime Iain had decided that Gilbert would make a good baby-sitter for Benjamin and was a half decent cook and cleaner. So there were benefits with keeping him around, so to speak.

Inside the house, Iain and Francis helped their two younger companions with their coats before heading out to the kitchen. Gilbert had said he'd prepare dinner for when they got back but Iain had made a bet in the car: there would be little to no food ready for their homecoming, or he'd quit smoking.

And it didn't take long for the family to realise that he was right.

"Lazy good-for-nothing twat."

"M-maybe he went to the village t-to get some groceries? We didn't have much in the refrigerator to choose from."

"Bollocks! I bet ye anythin' that shit-head's upstairs takin' a wee nap! Where's Ben in all this, eh?" Francis had spent enough time around Iain these past months to know the man wasn't in a good mood. He had a foul temper.

"Come on," He said to Matthew and Arthur, guiding them to the door. "You two should stay out of the kitchen until 'e calms down."

Arthur had a permanent watery blush across his cheeks. He was embarrassed to let anyone other than Francis see him so big; even when he bumbled around the household beneath a heavy cloak of blankets was awkward enough. Matthew on the other hand seemed rather open about his condition. Unlike Arthur, whenever the opportunity arose Matthew would invite any member of the household to feel the baby kick – even Kumajiro and Benjamin had a go once. Sometimes the baby would throw a strong kick, causing Matthew to gasp or grow weak in the knees from the sheer surprise. As they neared the living room that was precisely what happened.

"I've got you, luv," Arthur had moved just in time to catch the Canadian under his arms before he could fall headlong into the wall opposite. "Did the baby kick?"

"Y-yeah…"

"It's got some strength, eh? Like you and Alfred."

"I-I guess so… or like Ivan." Arthur fell silent for a moment. Matthew's face had fallen at his own mention of the child's biological father.

"Alright, lad. Well, let's get ourselves comfortable on the settee. Something tells me dinner won't be for at least an hour yet. Come on."

They walked into the living room where Matthew managed to slump down on the couch, keenly letting his heavier form sink down into the plump cushions. Arthur grabbed the couch duvet from the armchair and sat himself down beside the other, draping the woolly cover over their laps until they were cosy. The weather didn't seem to understand that summer was meant to be warm and dry and so far they'd only been experiencing cold, damp or even humid conditions. Today was a wet day filled with the seasonal rains.

Arthur took himself a book from a pile of horror and mystery novels that Iain had left on the coffee table and sank back into the sofa. His head hurt from the lack of fluids despite previous warnings to drink more, and his stomach fluttered with the occasional twitch from his unborn child. Healthy, thank God.

Francis had been good to him these past three weeks. Alfred's absence had been difficult on him especially when he saw Gilbert badgering Matthew and Iain threatening for him to back off. In a way he was jealous of all of the attention the Canadian boy was receiving.

"What about me?"

Francis could obviously tell. For once Arthur had enjoyed and strongly welcomed the tenderness of his ex rather than try to deny him. He didn't want to end up cheating on Alfred with the older Frenchman but there had been times where Francis had playfully tried to seduce him, to provide him relief, which had tempted him – and Francis knew it. Pregnancy was a strange and horribly uncomfortable experience for Arthur; aside from his daily sexual frustration that he'd had suppressed for a so-far painful five or so months, his skin was constantly warm and itchy with sweat and his joints were growing as sore as his new-found attitude for lugging around his increasing bulk – not that he held anything against the child. He just wanted relief; someone to massage his shoulders or to help him in and out of the tub when he wanted a cool bath or shower. Francis was just a substitute, he reasoned. But he still kept well away from him, certain that he could wait until Alfred returned.

Arthur quickly found his brother's book wasn't to his taste after leafing through the first few chapters. Matthew was asleep, it seemed as he closed the book. He had such a cute face when he slept. His soft pink lips were parted, chest and prominent stomach rising and falling at a steady rhythm with each breath. His hair had been pulled back into a ponytail to keep it from falling into his eyes as the sandy locks had been left to grow out again.

Arthur managed to ease himself to his feet. Matthew stirred but didn't wake. He gave a little mumble of something incoherent instead. Such a cute child, Arthur told himself as he waddled from the room for the staircase. His bed was more comfortable anyways, and from there he could check his mobile phone in private.

Without Francis standing by it took a little longer than expected to get himself upstairs. He teetered dangerously once or twice but luckily he had a good grip on the banister to keep himself on his feet.

He stumbled into the master bedroom where he closed the door behind. The first thing Arthur did after that was change back into his comfortable night clothes – that oversized t-shirt of Alfred's and those drawstring pyjama bottoms were the most comfortable things he could wear by this stage without crushing his abdomen.

Arthur flopped backwards on the bed, taking a moment to relish the coolness of the pillow on his heated skin with an appreciative groan. A minute later he reached for his mobile phone which was sat on the night stand.

_'3 Missed Calls from Alfie'_

_'1 Unread Text from Alfie'_

Arthur wasn't surprised in the slightest. He and Alfred had been keeping touch by any and every means necessary including through the use of their phones. If he didn't pick up straight away he often found his inbox spammed, though today hadn't been the case.

Smiling, Arthur opened the message.

_'To Arthur, from Alfie, 17:47_

_Hey, u didnt ansr my call. U ok? Calling u on skype 10pm. Call me wenevr.'_

Arthur cared to check the time on his alarm clock figuring that the text had only come half an hour ago. Arthur punched in Alfred's home number, one he'd learnt off by heart in recent days, and put the phone to his ear.

It rung once, twice, thrice, the dial the same boring tone as it always had been before he heard a wonderfully familiar voice.

"Hullo? Alfred speaking. Who's this?"

"Hello, luv."

"Artie~! You got my text?"

"You mean the one with the absolutely appalling spelling and grammar? Yes, of course I did, you great big numpty." The Brit had to hold the phone away from his ear when his lover on the other end erupted into a fit of laughter.

Alfred was still giggling when he spoke, "So, how did the check-up go today?"

Arthur leaned back against his pillow, legs stretched out. He pulled the hem of his shirt back to reveal the swollen bump with his free hand; eyes softening as he fondly gazed down.

"Fine. I've got the pictures from the scan so I'll show you later. The baby's fit and healthy, thank the Lord."

"Mattie?"

"He's doing alright. Big but alright."

"No kidding? How big are you now?" Arthur, who had begun to smooth a hand over his middle, paused for a moment.

"Just wait until you come back, alright?"

"Fine, fine… had plans to make you strip on Skype, but whatever." Arthur could hear the humour in the American's voice, which reassured him that he hadn't been disappointed.

"How much longer is your boss going to make you stay there? I think old frog-face is about ready to jump in my bed anytime now."

"Ugh… I dunno, babe. He's still being kind of a douche. I'll talk to him later though, see if he'll gimme a break for a few days."

"Please do. I'm getting sick of seeing my brother's face everywhere I turn. He and Prussia are at each other's throats whenever Matthew's back is turned."

"Wait, Prussia's still there?"

"Yes, he is. And if it weren't for the fact that he's Benjamin's father and a great help around the house, Iain would've kicked him out yonks ago. I swear though, any longer and it'll be like world war three."

"Hey… sorry to cut this short, sweetheart, but d'you think you could pass me over to Iain? I need to talk to him."

Arthur's response was late. He clutched his phone tighter, pulling it closer to his ear. "What…? Why?"

"Just… I just need to talk to him. We were planning something for you and Mattie, and, err… we… never finished our… plans?" It sounded legit, right?

"Oh. Oh, well alright then. Hold on."

Arthur mildly cursed under his breath as he wobbled down the staircase, one hand grappling the banister desperately and the other holding his phone flat against his chest.

"Iain," he called, "Alfred's on the phone! He wants to speak to you!"

Said Scotsman popped his head round the kitchen door just in time to see his baby brother successfully toddle down the last step.

"He what?"

"He wants to speak to you."

Iain fully emerged from the kitchen and approached. Arthur timidly held the mobile phone to his brother.

"Yeah?" The Scot growled before putting the phone to his ear. "What does he want?"

"To speak privately." Came Arthur's response. Iain cast a cold look at his brother.

"Scram."

Iain waited until Arthur retreated into the living room before he himself returned to the kitchen. He sat himself on the backdoor step in the open back door. His ashtray was sat beside him along with a packet of cigarettes and a lighter.

"So what thee fuck do ye want then, ye damn Yankee-bastard?"

"Hey, first off, don't speak to Arthur like that! Second-"

"Yer really tellin' me how I speak t' me own damn brother? First off, wind yer neck in. Two, yer four weeks late with me money," He lit a new fag and took a long drag on it. "D'ye want me t' keep our deal or not?"

"Actually dude, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. I should've done it weeks ago but y'know, shit happens," Alfred paused for a moment to allow Iain to interrupt if he must before pressing on, "I'm laying you off and givin' Prussia a chance."

The silence that followed was both satisfying and worrying. Alfred waited with bated breath for the Scot's reply, expecting it to be rather furious. Iain, however, couldn't help but grin just a little bit. He sucked on the cigarette, enjoying the foul smouldering taste.

"Ye ain't doin' shit. Ye think ye could toy with yer brother without any consequences?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talkin' about how if ye remove me, all thee emotional crap that's already spillin' out is gonna go into overdrive. He's takin' quite thee shine t' me, ye know… do ye really think he's goin' t' get over it just like that?"

"I… he'll have… Gilbert…"

"Yer fuckin' stupid," Alfred cringed when he got an earful of the older man's throaty laugh, to the point where he had to pull the receiver away from his ear. It seemed like a very long time before the Scotsman stopped to continue speaking, "Listen up, sunshine, an' I'll tell ye what's goin' t' happen," He took another puff on his cigarette before dropping it on the granite doorstep and stamping it out with his boot. "Yer gonna keep payin' me until Matthew pops the sprog. Then, I'll get him t' break up with me."

"I… I don't understand… if you're going to leave him anyway… why…?"

"Ye really are just a pretty face, ain't ye? Now I see why me brother likes ye. It's simple; if I leave him an' thee kid now, it won't do him any good. He'll think there's somethin' wrong with him when there ain't… an' when ye get t' be pregnant with a waist like that an' fuckin' hormones rulin' yer head, ye can't blame him fer thinkin' that way."

"So… so you're going to break up with him after he's had the baby…?" Alfred asked, trying desperately to understand where Iain was coming from.

"Aye. I'll let him down easy, but I think it'll be best t' wait until he's settled with both kids. By then I think it might take his mind off of things. But ye better get yer arse into gear, because after that I'm takin' off an' they're yer problem. Yer brother's a good kid. He doesn't deserve all thee shit he's gotten in thee past year."

The phone went dead before Alfred could respond.

Iain rolled the mobile phone dolefully in his palm, removing his thumb from the 'end call' button. He lit a second cigarette, taking one long puff on it and setting it in his ashtray for a moment. He ran a hand back through his coarse fiery red hair, drawing over his scalp and down his prickly neck with a lowly groan.

He plodded across the immaculate tiled floor of the kitchen towards the door that connected the room with the rest of the household. Opening it, the Scot popped his head around it.

"Arthur! Come get yer fuckin' phone before I stick it in thee bin!"

* * *

It turned out Gilbert had only been in the villager with Benjamin to grocery shop. He'd located the keys to Arthur's car in the biscuit tin on the kitchen counter and fitted Benjamin's new baby seat in the backseat.

He had planned to make one of the meals Matthew had loved when they'd been together; mashed potato with sausage and steamed vegetables. There had been no spuds or veg in the house, or any other of the minor ingredients. Getting to the village had been a trial in itself. Arthur's car didn't have any sort of a navigation system so twice he took the wrong lane and got lost on the way to the village. After that he wound up needing to return to the shops after realising he'd forgotten a bag of his groceries. In total, a trip that should've taken only half an hour really took an hour and a half instead.

When he got in he found the kitchen already occupied – Francis had found enough vegetables in the fridge and some chicken stock cubes in the cupboard to whip up a fresh meat and veggie broth.

"There's always tomorrow, _mon amis_," Francis winked as he poured his white-haired friend a cup of coffee and made up a bottle for Benjamin. "But it's getting on a bit now."

"_Ja_, I know… I know… I just really wanted to do something nice for him. _Danke_." Gilbert was sat at the small kitchen table, feeding Benjamin from his bottle. Francis put down the freshly brewed cup of hot sickly maple-sweetened coffee and slumped down in the opposite chair.

Francis rested his chin in his hand, propping his elbow up against the table. "'E's getting to be a big boy. Growing so fast."

"Yeah. I just hope I can be around to see it all."

"Poor _Mathieu_… 'e's doing well considering the fact that 'e's been pregnant for the better 'alf of two years. 'E was such a cute boy when 'e was small… now look at 'im. Less than 'alf my age and already 'aving 'is second child." Francis put the small glass of red wine to his lips and greedily drank down the deep scarlet liquid. Gilbert remained quiet as his son gurgled softly. The baby had grown much more able now; he was beginning to crawl and scoot around at his own accord, and Matthew was keen to use him mostly on solid foods. On the whole he had been weaned from breast milk though in times of comfort that's where he seemed to turn to – and Matthew was just fine with that.

A playful smile tugged at the corners of Francis' lips as the tiny infant batted the empty bottle away with a gurgling giggle. His eyes, like little perfectly cut amethysts, stared up at the white-haired man holding him. Benjamin was rather bold for his age. Now that he was mobile the whole house was an adventure! Poor Matthew couldn't take his eyes off of the infant for more than a second before he was crawling away to explore behind the couch or out in the hallway. Granted, he never got very far but it was getting to be a trial with Matthew's inconveniently sized belly restricting his movement.

Francis lifted Benjamin from his Vati's arms into his own. He playfully tapped the child's nose, expecting the infant to burst into a fit of giggles. He was such a happy child despite the unsettled life he was living, but instead Benjamin simply grabbed at the finger that tapped, pulling it to his mouth. Francis chuckled. He removed his finger before the child could even try gumming it, bring that same hand to push back the child's blonde-white hair. The Frenchman wound his fingers around the wispy locks, twirling and teasing the hair with Benjamin grabbing at the air with a giggle and squeak.

"You are going to be a fine little chef just like your _grand-père_, eh?" Francis beamed. Gilbert smirked, perhaps a little bit too proudly.

"Are you really okay with being a grandpa for the next _Gott_-knows-how-long?" The Frenchman turned Benjamin to face his father and immediately the child leaned forward with an eager squeal. As Gilbert took his son back Francis replied, "Only if you're 'appy to be a father. "

"Of course I am." _**As long as I can be around to be daddy**_, remained unspoken but heavily implied. Francis managed a smile and leaned forward to place a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"I'm sorry life 'as not turned out the way you 'ad wanted. But, it is not like _Mathieu_ is trying to stop you from seeing Benjamin. On the contraire, _mon amis_, 'e wants you to spend as much time with 'im as possible."

"Yeah, I know I should probably be grateful for just this… but…" He trailed off, shaking his head in dismay. Francis sighed softly. He ran a hand through his blonde hair, reaching behind to pull it out back into the ponytail he'd had momentarily pulled it from. Gilbert kept his eyes to his son, nuzzling the top of the baby's tiny head, willing silently with every thread of hope that he had that he, and the little secret he'd been keeping, wouldn't have to continue like this. He didn't think he could be one of those weekend dads or summer vacation dads. He wanted to be a see-you-everyday dads.

Francis slowly got up from his seat and wandered back over to the hob. He stirred the pot with in big lazy circles, a hand on his hip.

"_Mathieu_ is in the living room with Arthur and Iain. Supper won't be for another twenty minutes yet, so why don't you give them some company?" Said Francis after deciding that although he knew this wasn't an easy time for anyone he could no longer be bothered with his friend moping around the kitchen at every opportunity. Did he want to be with Matthew or not?

* * *

Gilbert did leave eventually. He found them in the living room like Francis had said. The three of them were in the midst of watching an old black and white movie on the TV. Arthur was seated in his armchair, apparently trying to knit something small and very pink between glances up at the screen. Matthew snuggled up against the couch and Iain's side. The Scotsman had a strong arm wrapped protectively around him. Nobody seemed to notice them enter the room until Benjamin gave out a loud joyous cry upon seeing Matthew. At once the three current residents of the room snapped their attention to the newcomers. Immediately Iain's arm snaked tighter in a rather possessive fashion, to which Gilbert noticed as he approached.

Gilbert promptly passed Benjamin into Matthew's awaiting arms, "He's had his milk," His smile found strength again when Matthew flashed him a heart-warming look with a face that could melt butter. "Want me to put him to bed?"

"If you could. But I think he'll be okay to stay up for a few minutes. Could you run upstairs and bring Woofy?"

_"Woofy?"_

"Thee lad's wee stuffed dog," Iain told him, lumping Matthew and the baby closer still. "It's in his cot. He's rather fond of it, so do him a favour an' fetch it for us"

Why did they have to look so content? Like a proper little family, Gilbert thought jealously though he would not admit it. And the dirty smug look Iain was giving him wasn't appreciated either.

"Gilbert…? Woofy?"

"Ah… _ja! Ja_, I'll be back in a minute. With Woofy." Gilbert disappeared back from the room. He hurried upstairs and dived into Matthew and Iain's shared room where he knew Benjamin's crib would be. It didn't take long before he located the item of his search. He clutched the small dog tightly, taking a moment to look into it's lifeless brown eyes and the old drool stains along it's off-yellow coat. He didn't give the dog much thought; only raising a brow when he noticed the seam along one of the legs had been unpicked.

He decided the toy would be alright for the time being; after Benjamin was finally put to bed he would ask Arthur where the sewing kit was. He didn't have much practice at stitching things back up but he figured it couldn't be too difficult to push a threaded needle through some material couldn't possibly be too difficult.

He took the dog downstairs, continuing to probe the open wound of the toy with a finger. He re-entered the living room. This time only Matthew acknowledged his arrival when he appeared, and so did Iain when the German approached. A sleepy Benjamin simply hugged the dog close upon receiving it. Gilbert just sigh and stared forlornly as Iain cuddled back up to his little Canada and his child. Then his gaze moved to the older Scotsman. He bore his red gaze into him, eyes wide and unblinking, thinking that he might melt away with the intensity he posed.

From across the room Arthur glanced up from his knitting to observe, head tilted a fraction. Iain and Gilbert stared at one another, Matthew draped across Iain's chest with Benjamin tucked safely between them, their eyes closed.

Iain cleared his throat, once again catching his brother's attention. Arthur realised that this wasn't meant for him so set back to crafting the little woollen garment he'd started.

"Yer in thee way of thee telly. Budge, now."

"Iain, don't be mean," Scolded Matthew, bumping the older man's shoulder with his nose in a nuzzling gesture to which the red-head coyly returned. Then, almost immediately after Matthew shuffled restlessly to get up. "A-actually, I think I'm going to be put Ben to be-**_ah_**!" The last word slipped out as a soft groan and Matthew fell backwards, his face screwing up to a particularly hard kick. The Scotsman pushed himself forward to catch the young man and the infant he held. Matthew braced himself against the steadying support of Iain's arm.

Gilbert reacted just as quickly. He lunged forward with outstretched arms after being hopeful that the blonde would fall forward. When he found this not to be the case he sank to his knees before the couch.

"_M-maple_… that was a big one."

"Ye alright, pett?"

"Mm-hm. J-just a kick. Come on, before Ben gets fussy, okay?" Iain helped Matthew to manoeuvre himself off of the couch. Gilbert offered to take Benjamin until he was made to return him when Matthew found his feet and seemed stable.

Iain leaned in towards Gilbert, teeth clenched and breath riddled with the stale stench of smoke as he let a low mutter escape his lips, "Stay here with me brother. Keep him company will ye?"

"Yeah, sure. Whatever."

He slumped down on the couch and waited for the three to leave the room, drumming the couch cushion impatiently in the meantime. He snatched up the television remote and pointed it towards the set.

"You watching this?" He asked Arthur. The Briton shook his head. He just went back to knitting, the plastic needles making a subtle click-clicking as he went. The television channel was changed.

There was a long silence. Gilbert and Arthur had never been particularly close; friendly maybe and the occasional drinking buddy for the other but neither bothered getting close enough to care a great deal. On the other hand, Gilbert was one of Francis' best friends and father of Matthew's first. So by some simple relative connections the Briton concluded that the pair would see a lot more of each other.

Gilbert stared at the TV until his curiosity made his eye wander.

"Whatcha doin', Artie? Knitting some booties?" Teasing of course, but his tone did hint a degree of seriousness.

"Something like that." Arthur put the needles down for a moment. He held up the woollen piece to examine his work so far, a little smile on his face. "A cardigan."

Gilbert eyed the pink garment.

"Yeah? What if it turns out to be a boy?" Arthur smiled the smallest of smiles and leant back against the armchair.

"Matthew's only three months to go, so I'm making something for him."

"Okay. What if_ his_ baby is a boy?"

Arthur's face creased into a slight frown. "Hasn't he told you yet?"

"Told me what?"

"Ah, well I suppose he couldn't of have. Well, when he had the scan he asked the nurse to write the gender on a little slip of paper and to seal it inside the envelope with the scan images, should he ever get curious. Well, it didn't last long at all and he had a little peek shortly after we got in," Arthur chuckled softly as the image of an impatient little Matthew tearing open the envelope popped into his head. "He's having a little girl."

Gilbert felt his heart skip a beat and his throat run dry. Before he could speak again the albino first had to work a bit of spit up in his mouth.

"A… a little girl?" He repeated, sounding choked. "He's having a little girl?"

"Ah… yes, he is. Smashing news, isn't it? I thought pink and white would be rather nice rather than it being one solid colour, don't you think?"

"Always wanted a daughter. A boy and a girl, and Mattie." Arthur looked over with a rather piteous gaze at the other, eyes softening considerably. Gilbert was perched on the edge of the sofa cushion, doubled over with his elbows propped up on his thighs. He had his face buried in his hands, hiding his bright red eyes from view. Arthur felt a sudden urge to move across the room to accompany the softly sobbing German. So he did, setting his knit-work, needles and ball of pink wool aside.

When Arthur found himself hugging Gilbert only moments later, he began to question if this was something he would normally do. He quickly decided that it wasn't after he found himself gently coaxing the tears from the German and rocking him back and forth. It was the hormones, he reasoned non-too-keenly. God, was pregnancy really turning him into such a soft-touch?

"It isn't fair!" Gilbert cried out with a growl, jerking backwards and forcing Arthur to let go before he himself got hurt as a result of the Prussian's tantrum.

"What's not fair, luv?" Arthur asked, not realising the endearment slip out.

Gilbert shook his head. He couldn't deny that he was upset yet at the same time he held his tears back for dear life. He knew Francis would never tease him about his emotions but somehow he felt Arthur would. The Englishman only smiled warmly and took his hand.

"I know I've been saying the same thing for ages, Artie… about wanting to be with Mattie and Ben."

"Yes, yes…" Arthur soothed, embracing the man once again. "You've said."

"But… I mean it, y'know?"

"I know. I understand."

"_U-und_ now that he's gonna have a little girl without me. They're gonna be one big happy family _und_ I can't have any part in it."

"Shh, do be dramatic. You can still be a good father to Benjamin, and the little girl if and when she needs it. Matthew knows how important it is to have a father around, but nobody will want Ivan within fifty feet of him, I can assure you."

"Isn't that what Scotland's for?" Came the sniffy reply.

"I honestly don't think it's going to last, luv. Francis and Iain dated a very long time ago but it didn't last. Two months at most before they fell out. In fact, I believe Francis is the longest he's ever been with someone. Why, usually he sleeps with his new partner once and that's that!"

"Until now."

"Eh?"

"He's been with Mattie for like five or six months now. That's about three times as long as you said he _und_ Francis were together." When Gilbert pulled away a second time – more gently and with warning – he rolled his gaze away to stare at the carpet.

"I… I'm sorry. Someone so awesome shouldn't cry over something like this. It's so unawesome."

"It's alright. It's healthier to let your feelings out than to bottle them all up, Gilbert."

"_Ja_, I guess."

"Everything will look brighter soon, I promise. Every cloud has a silver lining, as they say."

* * *

About half an hour passed by and Francis was dishing up bowls of stew in the kitchen. He stacked them up onto a large serving tray. He took them out into the dining room and placed a bowl at each place before returning for the drinks and condiments, including a plate of buttered bread and some savoury dumplings for dunking in the stew broth.

He stood back to admire his work; the table looked lovely with the stew pot – should anyone want seconds – standing as the centrepiece surrounded by the pepper and salt shakers, and plates of extras.

"Everyone, to the table please! Dinner is ready~!" The Frenchman waited for a moment with his head peeking outside the dining room door. He at least expected to hear one of the others holler back from wherever they were in the house to acknowledge the fact that supper was on the table. But no reply.

Kumajiro shuffled from the kitchen nibbling a cracker smothered in maple syrup. He gave Francis a dim look before going on his way – apparently he did not care for the non-maple dinner being served. Normally he would skip dinner and wait for when the house was quiet and everyone was in bed before ransacking the pantry.

Francis waited and waited some more before going off in search of the others. He first stopped in on the living room because the TV was a dead giveaway that someone was there watching it.

And to his surprise he found Arthur fast asleep on the couch next to Gilbert, who kept Arthur safely tucked between him and the couch. Arthur seemed at ease; Gilbert was an excellent pillow, thanks to his years of practise. Still and warm and comforting all at the same time.

On the other hand, Gilbert's eyes were rather dark and red, the skin blotchy and damp from the tears he'd been crying. He paid no mind to Francis and instead focused on the swollen belly before him. He'd rolled back Arthur's oversized shirt to reveal the taut dainty stomach. Francis could see that Gilbert was calmly stroking that stomach without much thought with a glazed look in his eye. But Gilbert was having a grand time, chasing the baby's kicks when they happened and tracing shapes over the mound when they didn't.

Francis shifted his weight from one foot to another with an uneasiness growing in the pit of his stomach. Then he cleared his throat to alert his friend of his presence.

"Ah! Francis, what's up?" Francis gave his friend a look of suspicion.

"Supper is on the table. _Mon amis_, I should move if I were you before _Angleterre_ wakes up. He won't be 'appy if 'e sees you doing that. 'E 'as a nasty 'abit of kicking when 'e's in a foul mood." Gilbert, like a sweet and innocent wide-eyed child, cocked his head.

"But he asked me to."

"Pardon? Gilbert, surely you're mistaken – "

"I'm not. He wanted some company… Alfred can't get jealous over that, can he?" Their gazes locked, sky blue meeting blood red. Francis was the first to look away.

"Just keep it in your pants, _mon amis_," Then the Frenchman walked back out of the door, muttering, "One broken family is enough."

Just then he heard the staircase creaking. Looking up the older blonde saw the round-bellied form of his son and the tall red-headed form of the Scot descending. Francis smiled a modest but weak smile and proceeded to direct them to where food was waiting.


	20. Apple Pie

**Chapter 19:**** Apple Pie**

**Date:**** 16th August, 2013 (August, part 1)**

* * *

Once again, for probably the hundredth time this week, Arthur was standing half-naked in profile before his bedroom mirror. Judgemental green eyes observed the man in the mirror; the man with the messy blonde hair and the thick brows stared back. The man with the gangly legs that hardly seemed appealing and the slender arms that, along with his softened unwrinkled face, made him look very young, like a typical adolescent.

But the illusion of that litheness and youth was ruined when his eyes fell to his belly. Arthur ran a small hand over the heavy bump, fingers spread as they curiously searched for the tiny kicks that he'd grown to expect, but which he couldn't seem to get used to.

Arthur was dreading Alfred's homecoming. The American had been kept longer still by his boss until it had been well over a month since the pair had been able to sleep in the same bed or even snuggle up beneath the same blanket. Only the night before Arthur had received a text crammed with poor spelling and overused smiley faces announcing that he would be home within the next day or so. He should've been happy.

The little Englishman whimpered. Alfred was going to hate him. The American had said he always liked how petite and cute and lanky the Briton was in comparison to his self; a tall individual blessed with more muscle than sense with finally toned abs, still with plenty of squishy flesh between his bones to make him cuddly.

Or maybe Arthur should stop over-thinking the small things and take heed that he had a very attractive male and the anticipated father of his child coming to see him later that day.

Arthur continued to stare forlornly at his belly, not daring to even think about the stretch marks, when he heard a knocking on the door.

"_Cher_, are you still in there? Can I come in?" Francis called from behind the door. Arthur didn't even try to cover himself. Francis had seen him completely naked plenty of times recently on the grounds that he'd needed help getting in and out of the bathtub just to bathe. That was until he was made to take showers instead to make life easier not that Francis had a problem with their previous arrangement. And then there was their times beforehand any of this, when they'd been together.

Arthur ghosted his fingers over the taut pink of his skin, "Yes, yes… shut the door behind you though, will you?"

In the Frenchman came, following the Briton's request without question. Immediately he spotted the shirtless man examine his own reflection with criticising eyes. Francis walked right up behind Arthur and leaned in. He pressed the little Englishman into his body cradling him in one arm whilst the other curled around Arthur's hand as he felt for the unborn infant's kicks.

"Oh, _lapin_. Tell me what's wrong, hm?" Francis whispered softly into his ear

"Look at me. I'm disgusting." Francis tutted at this rather negative response. He pushed his cheek against Arthur's temple and brought the hand up from his chest to push back the younger man's blonde fringe.

"Cher, please don't talk about yourself like that. _Tu es belle_." Francis couldn't look at Arthur face-to-face from this angle so he settled with smiling at his reflection. Arthur smiled weakly in return but felt unconvinced. What if when Alfred returned he thought less of him? What if he no longer found him attractive?

"But it's true…! I'm huge… and, what if Alfred doesn't like it?"

"_Mon lapin_, compare 'im, a man who eats fifty 'amburgers a day to you, one who is eating for two and 'eavily pregnant. It would be completely unacceptable. I for one would 'ave something to say about it if left you for such a pathetic reason," He nuzzled the side of Arthur's head with a small sly smile. "After all, there is still a chance the bébé is mine, isn't there? I couldn't leave you to raise a child alone."

The Frenchman then turned the disgruntled Arthur to face away from the mirror, leading him over to the edge of the bed where he sat him down. Arthur grunted softly with clear discomfort, supporting his stomach with one hand whilst the opposite gripped his knee. Francis checked he was alright before walking to the wardrobe.

"I was out in the back garden earlier, _cher_. The apple trees are ripe and ready for the picking. I was thinking about making some apple tartlets with the fruit, maybe you would like to 'elp?" Francis said changing the subject, opening the wardrobe door and choosing a clean casual shirt to dress the Brit in, as well as one of his sweatshirts to put over it, "Or we can make an apple pie for when _Amérique_ arrives if you think he'd appreciate it. You can, ah, 'elp, of course."

The promise of being allowed to help bake something nice for his sweetheart was a perk. Arthur wouldn't admit it on the grounds that he liked to think he was a pretty good cook himself but he rather enjoyed some of the things the Frenchman could whip up in the kitchen.

He allowed Francis to dress him in the warm sweater, shirt and some track pants. When Arthur was snugly dressed he was lead downstairs to the kitchen.

Francis suggested going out in just their bare feet; the nights had been rather dry and free of rain recently and the fact that Arthur was complaining of sore ankles in a mellow-dramatic tone made it seem like a good idea.

An old picnic basket was found in downstairs closet and was taken out with them to collect the apples with – a couple dozen would do it, France told him. To their surprise Gilbert and Benjamin were already sitting out on the grass on a blanket accompanied by the three cats, Gilbird and Kumajiro. The German didn't appear to notice them at first. The animals, minus Arthur's own miserable cat, were gathered around the white-haired man staring inquisitively at something he had. Benjamin was propped in the make-shift cot of his vati's crossed legs watching quietly with curious clueless amethyst eyes, his ever-present Woofy loyally at his side.

As they drew nearer Francis and Arthur quickly realised Gilbert was talking to his little gathering. He was speaking softly. He had what appeared to be a small dark item in his hands, which from afar looked black or almost blue in colour. The way Gilbert shielded with his hands did make it a little hard to make out though – Francis had a bit of an idea to what it might've been.

"What 'ave you got there, _mon amis_?" Immediately he hid the small box, like a naughty child trying to hide a kitchen-stolen sweet when confronted by a suspicious parent.

"None of your businesses. It's a secret!"

Francis and Arthur stopped at the young apple tree which was closest to the other man. Francis reached up and took one of the flimsy lower branches in-hand and pulled down for Arthur to easily pluck the fruit. He was careful not strain the branch lest it snapped under the pressure. The trees were very young, having only been planted as saplings by Arthur four or five years back.

"The same secret you 'inted to me a few weeks ago?"

"Not saying!" Arthur examined the skin of the rosy-ripe apple before gently dropping it into the woven basket. Francis' smile warmed.

"We're making an apple pie for_ Amérique's_ 'omecoming later. Why don't you and Benjamin 'elp us?" Gilbert did love baking sweets and pastries – he couldn't help it, really. He had been the one to teach little brother Ludwig how to bake such delicious treats and when they'd been together, Matthew had enjoyed the occasional tartlet or cake, with or without lashings of maple syrup. All the praise he had received from his cooking had built up pride and vanity within the ex-nation's mind, and more than often he had belittle the desserts of the Frenchman in favour of his own.

A sly little grin grew as an idea struck his mind.

"Or, why don't we make a bunch of things? There are plenty of apples to use, und the pantry's stocked, so let's have a competition! Bake-off!"

Francis seemed to think about this idea until Arthur intervened. He held an apple towards the other in what could only be assumed to be of a threatening gesture.

"I won't have you messing up the kitchen with your shenanigans! Alfred is coming home tonight and I want the house immaculate!"

"Relax, preggers. We'll clean up after ourselves, we're not animals." Gilbert left Kumajiro and his trusty sidekick, Gilbird to care for Benjamin.

The child had recently learnt how to sit up on his own. His little body had gotten to that milestone where he'd taken one more step into independence – it won't be long before he starts driving, Gilbert told them, his cute animal friends.

Of course, Ben had his own shortcomings. Although he was sitting up it lasted no more than a few minutes before he fell onto his back or righted himself onto his hands and knees where he would proceed to crawl his way into trouble. Luckily for the three grown-ups, today Benjamin was content with using Kumajiro as his own personal pillow as he drifted off into one of his deep-set naps.

They worked diligently, picking only the loveliest apples from the few trees that were dotted about the far end of the garden. They chatted softly, Francis and Gilbert, discussing what sweet treats they might make. It was decided that Alfred, Arthur and Matthew would be the judges of what resulted although the Englishman protested, telling them that the whole point was to make something nice for Alfred to tuck into when he got back home.

Conversation died down quite a bit when they filled the basket with fruit. It was time to return to the kitchen to begin, and just in the nick of time. As Francis examined the sky above he could see fat dark rain clouds roll in, filling the rare once-blue expanse over the countryside.

The Frenchman hooked the basket under one arm and ushered Arthur back to the kitchen door with the other, "Come along, _lapin_, before we get wet!"

Francis followed Gilbert and Arthur, beginning to hum a jaunty tune softly as he swung the basket of fruits when something struck him.

"Forgetting something, _mon amis_?" Francis called to Gilbert before he disappeared inside. He glanced back over towards the blanket where Kumajiro still patiently waited with Benjamin. The rain had already begun with the first droplets rousing the infant boy and triggering an onset of alarmed cries.

The German man nearly tripped as he turned and sprinted full-out to retrieve the teary toddler. "_Scheiße_! Sorry, _kleiner_!"

* * *

"S-see? My sweatshirt covers my stomach just f-fine!"

"It covers ye alright – but thee bump is still more than a bit wee bit obvious."

"Iain, p-please? I'm s-sick of being cooped up… it's not fair!"

The Scotsman gave a small sigh. He stroked back Matthew's wavy blonde hair leaning forward to press a heavy-lipped kiss to the boy's hairline. He barred an arm across Matthew's back holding him in what Matthew had familiarised himself with as a hug, and apparently the best Iain could manage.

"We can't risk someone seein' ye, pett."

"I-I haven't been out hardly at all since last year… e-ever since Ivan kept me… p-please, can't we just go to the village park?" It wasn't that Iain was afraid one of the humans might be suspicious of Matthew – to be fair, from a distance many people had mistaken the gentle, long-haired youngster for an expecting mother, and with such a soft-spoken voice his masculinity was masked well from afar.

The real reason was that Iain didn't want to really be seen playing the daddy/lover role. He had discovered that Matthew really was a sweet and a deserving child – he deserved every droplet of love. It made Iain guilty for having to abandon him and the children some point in the near future. Matters weren't made any easier when Iain discovered that Matthew wasn't the only one with certain needs. Sexual needs. Iain had felt them too but his ways of satisfying himself were easy enough for him to handle by himself; Matthew on the other hand needed a different kind of stimulation.

The heated nightly event of two days previous fell from his mind, and Iain held Matthew firmly beneath his arms. The Scotsman was right of course; Matthew's baby belly was far too noticeable for even the heaviest of clothing to conceal.

Matthew stared longingly out of the bedroom window, like a faithful dog awaiting the homecoming of his master after a day of work in anticipation of an evening walk at the park.

Iain wanted to give in. He felt terrible that Matthew and Arthur couldn't go out for fear of someone seeing them – any of the others could freely leave, usually to do some shopping in the village, or in the Scot's case, to watch the footy and down a pint in the pub.

Bringing his whiskery chin to the boy's ear he bumped him in an affectionate manner. Matthew turned to meet his lips, not minding the man's spikey red stubble as it scratched and rubbed against his cheek.

"I know it's no consolation, pett, but how about we have a walk around thee woods on thee property? It's private, so no ruddy human is goin' ter catch us."

"You make it sound like we're fugitives of the law." Matthew sighed sadly, earning a little kiss on the nose.

"I'll make it up ter ye somehow, I promise." Iain rocked Matthew with his arms wound around the young Canadian's waist, turned so Matthew's head rested against the base of his neck. His back was arched back slightly as to avoid pressing his swollen belly into the other.

For quite some time neither noticed the pitter-patter of rain on the window, that is, until Iain lifted his head from atop Matthew's head to investigate the sound.

"Oh… sorry, pett. Looks like we're goin' have ter re-schedule our wee walk," He touched Matthew's cheek to direct his gaze towards the window. "Take a gander at that there rain. It's absolutely pissin' it down. An' blowin' a hooley, by thee looks."

It was agreed that they would indeed re-schedule for a better, dryer date. As Iain helped Matthew back into his comfortable pyjamas. Matthew wrapped a soft cotton bathrobe around his swollen body and then lay down with Iain on their shared bed. The entire house seemed wonderfully quiet; Matthew was grateful to be graced with such silence. Iain stretched an arm out behind Matthew's neck for him to use as a pillow. Despite all, Matthew couldn't get comfortable and groaned softly.

Long war-worn fingers tugged back the shirt Matthew wore and fluttered over warm, itchy skin. Matthew moaned quietly rolling his head against a shoulder.

"She's kicking," He said managing to suppress a whimper, "Hard." He clutched at his stomach with both hands, wanting to sit up and lean forward to try and instinctively ease the pain. Instead Iain kept him pressed down on his back, his own body leaning closer to press a kiss over a blonde eyebrow. Those same skilled fingers pushed back stray fringe from the Canadian's eyes back over his ears, yet not a word was spoken. Iain knew he wasn't any good at comforting. He'd come to the conclusion that he only made things worse with his words, not that his brothers helped. Whenever he tried to help Dylan or Arthur as younglings the pair (particularly the latter) would project his attempts as scary and threatening. Iain couldn't help it… but Matthew seemed to understand him. The time spent with the tough man made him see past it giving him a sense of comfort.

The clatter of pots and pans made the two look towards the door with a start. The noise was almost immediately followed by a loud infantile screech of a cry.

Matthew and Iain exchanged glances. The older man managed to leave him unharmed whilst he shot out the room like a bullet, Matthew surprisingly not far behind though waddling.

"What thee hell was that?!" He shouted as he came hurtling down the stairs.

They reached the kitchen where the cluttering originated and the cries pounded on. It quickly became apparent that those belonged to Benjamin. The raised voices of Arthur and Gilbert were heard only just heard over him. They argued angrily without relent.

**"You clumsy bloody oaf!"**

**"Oh, shut up! You got in the way!"**

**"How dare you! I did no such thing** – oh, there, there poppet. Shh, shh… there, there. Don't cry. There's a brave boy. Let's have a look at that."

That was enough for an unnerved Matthew and Iain to barge into the kitchen, the Scot's face aglow an angry red.

"What thee hell happened here?" He demanded as soon as they burst in. There stood a heavy Arthur, trying desperately to calm Benjamin down by rocking him in his arms and whispering sweetly. The screaming cries were loud – not the obnoxious 'I want attention' type of loudness but instead the 'it really, really hurts' kind.

Matthew snatched his son away from the Englishman. Upon examining the infant he realised what had provoked him; a gradually darkening bruise, round and disfigured in shape, took up nearly the entire of Benjamin's left cheek.

"W-what… what happened…?" Matthew's voice became unsettling soft. No-one heard – Iain was busy being the interrogator, a fistful of Gilbert's shirt in one hand and Arthur's arm in the other. Francis was nowhere to be seen. "What happened…?"

"Ye dumb shit-heads! Whaddya think yer playin' at?"

**"I said what the hell happened?!"**

It wasn't expected, the usually gentle and unheard Canadian dominating the volume. Matthew's vision was blurred by his tears and his face redder than Iain's, redder than thought humanely possible as blood rushed to fill his normally pale cheeks. A violent wildness filled his eyes.

Benjamin's flailing faltered when he recognised the touch of his papa, although the loudness of his voice startled the child into fresh tears. Matthew pressed Ben's head against his chest urging him to quieten down.

"M-Mattie…"

"**No!** Tell me what the hell happened to m-my baby! I want to know right now why my baby has a bruise the size of a baseball on his face!" The exertion of energy from projecting his voice left the poor boy rather dizzy and fatigued.

"I…" Gilbert began, biting his lip hard, to the point where he was certain that little bit of blood ran down his chin, "I-I was carrying him, a-and, well, we were gonna make some snacks with the apples from the garden. We went to get a few of the pans down from on top of the cupboard but we-"

"-He," Interrupted Arthur.

"-knocked the pots down instead. I tried to put them back but a frying pan fell down… and… well… it sorta of bounced off of the work surface and the handle… hit… Ben…"

When the last word slipped out Iain lunged back to again grab Gilbert. He held the shorter man in a vice-like grip, fingers and nails digging into his arms. Gilbert twisted painfully with a whine of protest. Iain showed no sign of releasing him anytime soon although his eyes narrowed into dangerous slits of emerald green.

"Ye stupid, careless, shit-headed fuck-tard," He all but growls, their gazes locking.

"Iain, please-" Matthew started.

Iain snarled, gazing refusing to give up the German. "Ye two, get lost fer minute, will ye?" Matthew and Arthur exchanged looks of worry. They both knew better than to argue with the tall Scot, so they spared him a few more words and together they ambled out of the kitchen. Francis passed them on the way out. In his hand he clutched a filled plastic shopping bag.

"What is going on 'ere?" He inquired when he saw his friend being held with a hand dangerously close to crushing his windpipe.

"This wankin' dipshit came this close ter puttin' wee Benjamin in hospital."

"What?" It was Francis' turn to look horrified. He turned towards Gilbert, plopping the bag of shopping on the work top. "What 'appened?"

"It was an accident."

"Bloody irresponsible is what I call it! Ye want ter get back with Matt? Then act more accordingly like a proper adult."

"I'm sorry! Geez, it wasn't intentional."

"An' where thee hell were ye at during all of this, Frenchie?" Iain approached the shorter Frenchman who seemed to be trying to avoid any trouble. But when he found himself confronted anyways, Francis stood up straight and directed his eye contact. He wouldn't allow himself to be afraid of his own son's partner, it just wouldn't be right. Confidently Francis crossed his arms across his chest.

"There were groceries still in the car from this morning, so I went to get them. Baby food, formula, some spices. That sort of thing."

"An' ye left those two morons alone with a baby?!"

"It was only for a moment. I didn't think they could possibly cause any mischief in such a short space of time!" Iain circled around the Frenchman from the side before approaching the worktop where a couple of mixing bowls and a few dry ingredients were laid out in preparation along with the basket of apples.

"What is this?" He demanded, snatching an apple.

"Arthur was going to make an apple pie for _Amérique's_ 'omecoming today, and we were going to 'elp by making a few extra little treats." Iain eyed the mottled skin of the small fruit.

The apple was crushed. Fresh juice leaked from the mangled fruit, oozing out between his fingers and leaving a sticky trail down the front of his wrist. The pulp was then discarded, simply dropped onto the floor tiles like a piece of trash.

"Prick those ears, Beilshit, listen up." Gilbert swallowed thickly but refused to show fear, even when Iain grasped the front of his shirt again and jerked him closer, the green of his eyes turning rancid, "I don't like competition, mate. Matthew doesn't want you. Matthew doesn't need you."

What Iain didn't expect was the shorter white-haired man to lunge forward like he did in his grasp. Gilbert struck Iain with a powerful kick to his leg. The other man didn't expect to be attacked and let go as he dropped to one knee when the one that took the kick gave out momentarily as a result.

Gilbert shrieked with victory, adding a second kick. Francis appeared at his side, tugging sharply at his shoulder.

"_Mon amis_, please leave the kitchen before 'e gets upset!" It was a well-known fact that Iain never backed down from a fight. He might've not been in as many wars as his youngest brother or his fellow nations, but there weren't many people who could win against him in a pub-fight. He had one hell of a left hook.

"Beilshit!" He snarled, rising up and throwing a punch that caught Gilbert square in the jaw. The force sent him backwards into the kitchen sink with a sickening crack and a yelp of surprise that reminded Iain of a mangy little stray. Then the German slipped down past the sink, sitting in a broken heap in front of the cupboard beneath the basin. The Scotsman backed up, clearly daring Gilbert to stand up.

But Gilbert didn't move from his spot on the floor. His eyes were half-lidded, glazed and unseeing, and from the corner of his lips ran a thin trickle of dark red. More blood soaked the back of his head, the patch growing at a dulled pace until finally a trail broke and started down the back of his scalp, winding messily down his bared neck.

"Gilbert!" Francis rushed to his friend's side at once, skidding a short distance over the kitchen floor to tend to the other. Iain watched from afar rubbing rings around his wrist. He didn't look the least bit sorry. In fact, he re-approached the finish the job, taking the rolling pin that was out on the worktop. A thick wooden instrument about 12 inches long and 1 ½ in diameter – it would surely make for a good weapon to bludgeon him with. The Scot ran a single finger along the length of the smooth wooden cookery tool appreciating how simply perfect it was.

Normally Iain had a good temper. He could tolerate his brothers. He could tolerate drunks. He could tolerate idiots, vulgar comments and all the gore in the world. And up until a few minutes ago he had been able to tolerate and withstand every advancement, remark and attempt to flirt with Matthew. Matthew was his. Iain didn't want to think he'd been going soft on the Canadian. He never went soft on anyone. Anyone. But this boy… he wasn't sure whether he just pitied him for the crap he'd endured the past year or if he was actually feeling something for him. All he knew was that he wanted Gilbert to keep away from what was considered his.

A boot made it's way up Francis' backside sending him toppling to the side as Iain drew nearer. His grip viced around the rolling pin, fingers flexing, teeth gritting. Gilbert was somehow still awake. He hadn't succumbed to the concussion just yet but now he wished he had.

The heaviness of his limbs that came with it all made Gilbert feel too weak to move. He simply stared up at his opponent, the one who viewed him as rat that needed exterminating, and gave him one last look that dared him to try.

"Eye fer an eye, Beilshit."

And then, Gilbert's world went black.

* * *

It seemed a long time before Gilbert's eyes cracked open. The back of his head throbbed and felt stiff, like something was wrapped around it. His arms felt heavy and tingly with pins and needles, and something else, but no pain. It quickly became apparent that he was lying on a bed somewhere; a light duvet was pulled right up to his chin and a springy mattress supported him from beneath, sandwiching him in perfect comfort.

But no matter how soft it should've been the pillow felt firm against the wound on the back of his head and it made him wince with a soft whimper. Gilbert tried to roll to a more comfortable onto his side until he felt a catch from his front preventing him from doing so.

"No, no. Stay like that." Came a gentle voice. Small hands righted Gilbert back to how he'd been. Ever so gently Gilbert's fringe was brushed away from his bloodshot eyes.

"Mm… England? That you?" A damp cloth was pulled over his forehead and patted in place. Slowly Gilbert inched his back up against the headboard of the bed.

"Yes, it's me. Try not to move too much, luv. You've got a rather nasty cut on the back of your head and we don't want to pop your stitches." Arthur brought a glass of water to the bed-ridden man's mouth.

"_Nein_ thanks…" The rim of the glass was pressed against the German's pale pinkish lips.

"Doctor's orders. We need to get some fluids in you." With just a bit of reluctance Gilbert took three small sips. Arthur frowned but didn't try to force him to drink more. He just set the glass back on the bedside table ready for when he wanted more.

"What happened…?"

"You don't remember?" Gilbert shook his head slowly. There was the pain again…

"_Nein_, not really. It's kind of hazy… right up until that bastard brother of your's assaulted me."

"That's a bit of a story… you see Matthew was right outside the kitchen door with Benjamin. He told me he couldn't trust what was going to happen. Then when I heard him scream I came running in to see Scot trying to beat old frog-face with a rolling pin. You were lying next to the sink completely out of it. In the end we manage to call Doctor Thompson out and he sorted you good and proper. He took a look at Benjamin. It's only a bruise but Matthew was given a jar of salve that he needs to apply every few hours or so."

"Oh, _Gott sei Dank_… where's Scotland now?"

"He's picking Dylan up from the airport. He's coming to stay for a few weeks to keep an eye on things; he knows how rowdy our brother can be… he's always been kind of a scapegoat in that sense."

"…Is that okay?"

"I don't think so. Dylan doesn't seem to mind though and he never really gets hurt too badly so I wouldn't worry too much, luv. Anyways, how're you feeling at the moment?"

Gilbert grunted softly pushing himself back flat down against the mattress. Arthur straightened the duvet so that the entire of the other's body from the neck-down was snug and cosy.

"Like shit. My head hurts. The back of my head hurts. My neck hurts. It all hurts."

"Like I said, you've got stitches. Not many but Thompson needed to close the wound. "

"Is Francis alright?"

"He got a rolling pin to the shoulder but he's alright, don't worry. If Matthew hadn't intervened like he had there's a bloody good chance that both of you would've needed more than a few stitches."

"Mattie's okay then?"

"Iain didn't touch him – he wouldn't dare, especially knowing Alfred will be home soon. He'd have his head kicked in if he so much as laid a finger on him."

"Good. That's good."

"And in the meanwhile, I'll let you sleep here in my bed. The sofa bed can't be good for your wound."

"Oh... thanks."

The pair was quiet for a long time after that. Just two lonely guys stewing in the other's mute company. And in a way it was nice.

Gilbert tried to doze off although Arthur made him well aware that he'd have to be woken up every hour or two. It was another of Thompson's orders just to make sure he didn't slip into a coma. Every now and again Arthur would look up from his romance novel just to check the patient was still breathing – you could never be too careful after receiving such a blow to the head.

By the time the hands on the small alarm clock on the bedside table read 5 o'clock they heard a soft knocking on the door. Arthur looked up from his book to answer it seeing as Gilbert seemed too 'out of it' to manage.

"Come in."

Followed by the creaking of hinges the door opened. It was Matthew. He was holding in his hands a little wooden tea tray which had on it a couple of mugs and two plates, each holding a slice of some sort of cake. A rich, warm cinnamon-y smell wafted in after him reaching the one in the bed.

"Um… sorry for disturbing you Gilbert, but I made a maple syrup and apple cake and some juice with the fruit you guys picked. I thought that maybe, if you were up for it, you'd like some? You missed lunch, so…"

Somehow Gilbert found the strength in his body to pull himself upright against his pillow until he wasn't even slouching, using his arms to brace himself whilst grinning eagerly, "_Ja_! I want some!"

So Matthew brought the tray over. As Gilbert took his share of the sweet and juice he expected Matthew to scurry away again as if too shy to interact any further. Instead, he stayed. He was dressed lightly in some pyjama bottoms, a shirt and a bathrobe that barely covered his baby bump.

Meanwhile Arthur leaned back against his chair with a soft groan. The wooden seat wasn't doing anything for his already-aching back and shoulders. Ideally he should've been lying down somewhere soft and comfortable. But he'd be told that whilst Francis and Matthew worked in the kitchen making the pie and sweets, someone had to keep a watchful eye on Gilbert.

"Um… Arthur? You're looking a little flushed. Maybe you should lie down in your room for a bit."

"I'm fine."

"Please, at least put a pillow behind you to support your back." Matthew moved to the opposite side of the bed to where Gilbert lay. He took one of the unused pillows and offered it to Arthur. The Brit refused.

"I'm fine, Matthew!" The Brit managed to get to his feet where he staggered from the room with a cry of, "I'm getting a fucking drink, if you don't mind, Matthew!"

"Ah, don't worry about him, Mattie. His hormones are just going into overdrive again." Said Gilbert as he finished the last piece of cake. Smacking his lips appreciatively he next seized the fresh apple juice.

"Maybe… but I think there's something else as well. Papa says he's missing Al."

"Can't be helped, right?"

"Mm."

"Hey…" Gilbert purred after a minute, setting the tray aside, "C'mere. I want a hug from _mein_ sexy boy." Blushing furiously at such bold words the blonde boy stepped back, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"N-n-no, Gilbert, I can't! Iain will-"

"He doesn't deserve you! Look what he did to me!" And Gilbert pointed to the bandage wrapped tautly around his head, "I love you. Why're you ignoring that for him?"

"…Because you left me. Gilbert, I… I only agreed to sleep with Russia so he wouldn't hurt Ben. I didn't plan on having his baby as well!" Gilbert could see that tears were falling, causing Matthew's eyes to be red and his cheeks to be pink. At once Gilbert threw back the covers. Aside from feeling a bit bedsore he fell well enough to move towards the sobbing boy. "I-I-I-"

"Please don't cry, _Liebling_. You'll upset the baby." Kind arms secured themselves around Matthew's waist and tugged him closer. At once Gilbert had Matthew trying to bury his head into the other's chest.

"W-why do y-you care about the b-baby?" Matthew sniffed clutching at Gilbert's chest. "I-I-I wish I didn't k-keep it. Gil… Gil, I don't want another baby, Gil. It's not fair. I-I can't look after two children on my own… I-I just can't."

Gilbert breathed into Matthew's hair making the cute blonde curl bob back and forth. Shifting so that his nose was down by Matthew's ear, Gilbert brought a hand up from its place around the blonde's waist to rest on top of his head.

"Isn't Iain going to help?" He inquired. Something about his tone soothed Matthew.

"I-I-I-"

"Hold on a minute,_ Liebling_," Gilbert cut in. He stepped back and took both of Matthew's hands in his own giving them each a small squeeze. "Take a deep breath… breathe with me. Come on."

So for the next few minutes Gilbert worked on trying to prevent his love from hyperventilating. Nonetheless Matthew still felt light-headed by the end and so Gilbert insisted on having him sit on the bed – not that he felt any better. The back of his head was still very sore, throbbing even.

When Matthew's breathing had calmed Gilbert reached for the glass of water that Arthur had left on the bedside table and held to Matthew's lips.

"Alright, have a drink now… I don't want you to get dehydrated… " Matthew downed the entire glass earning a kiss on the forehead. "Good boy. Sweet boy." Gilbert tapped the bottom of the glass to get every last drop, and when he was satisfied that it was all gone he put it back.

"G-Gilbert, I don't w-want Iain to be around th-the children anymore."

"Whaddya mean? He's… your boyfriend, isn't he?"

"Th-that's not the point! G-Gil, he hurt you – bad! I… I don't want someone like that to be around a baby and a toddler. He… he completely overreacted. I completely overreacted. I'm sorry…!"

"It's fine. Are you gonna break up with him?" It'd be awesome if you did… remained unspoken but heavily implied by the German's expression.

"I… I think so… I don't know. I'm scared. I'm sorry. I-I don't… I don't know…"

"Well… Artie said the doctor came."

"Yes, he did. A-after he fixed you up he took a look at Benjamin but he couldn't see any lasting damage. I-I-I think he was a lot less hurt than he made out to be. Gilbert, I'm so sorry."

The white haired man moved one hand to cup Matthew's cheek, guiding his head until crimson red orbs met soft lavender.

"You don't have to be sorry," He purred. Matthew only shook his head, shaking free the last tears from his eyes.

"Y-yes I do! If I hadn't overreacted like that Iain wouldn't have been so cruel. He wouldn't of hurt you."

"I don't think so, Liebling. Over the past few weeks he's kinda been giving me the stink-eye… actually, I bet he'd been waiting for an opportunity like that. Been waiting to drive me out for the longest time, I betcha." Gilbert smirked when Matthew scooted closer.

"I'm sorry." He mumbled tearfully cradling his cheek in the crook of Gilbert's neck. With a soft chuckle Gilbert leaned in to plant a kiss on the crown of his head.

"If you say 'I'm sorry' again, I'm going to have to do something." His lips curled into a playful yet sinister grin.

Matthew lifted his head, "Like what…?"

"Like… this!" Matthew was brutally assaulted by Gilbert's fingers. They mercilessly tickled every inch of his body, brushing over the well-known sensitive patches along his neck, ribs and armpits.

"_Non… non, arrête ça, arrête ça_, Gilbert! It tickles!"

Gilbert delighted in the favourable shrieks of his love, skilfully touching each known spot until the pregnant boy was a writhing mass of smiles and giggles.

"Gi-Gi-Gilbert, I-I can't breathe!" He cried tipping over the line between regular and downright hysterical laughter.

"You gonna stop apologising?" God, was the room spinning? It certainly felt like it.

Matthew nodded furiously falling backwards onto the bed so that his head hit the pillow and crumpled sheets, "Yes, yes! P-please sto-op! I'm gonna pee!"

Gilbert kept it up for a moment or two longer laughing himself, before collapsing down beside Matthew on the bed. Yep, the room was definitely spinning.

The last giggles faded into nothing and Gilbert snuggled closer draping an arm over Matthew's belly. He pressed a bold kiss to Matthew's pale jaw and settled, twining their legs together.

The back of Gilbert's head continued to radiate a sort of drumming sensation. There was no real rhythm to it, just a constant repetitive drone of pain that didn't slow nor speed up. He groaned inwardly putting a hand to feel the bandage that covered the expertly done stitching of his wound.

Gradually the pain did fade, only enough for it not to discomfort Gilbert, but enough. Matthew's breathing had returned to a gentler pace from the ragged rhythm it'd taken on from the tickling; Gilbert found it oddly amusing to watch the rise and fall of the great mound of belly he had with his hand still nestled comfortably on top.

"_Mein_ Mattie ~" He purred slyly into his ear when quite some time passed. Matthew could've sworn it held a suggestive undertone to it. A pleasant innuendo, perhaps. Matthew whined softly in response and Gilbert replied by looping an arm behind to cushion his head. Matthew, on the other hand, found greater comfort in resting his head on Gilbert's chest. "_Mein_ awesome Mattie ~"

And when an apparently but not surprisingly exhausted Matthew finally dozed off, Gilbert pulled them both under the sheets and pulled the covers up to their chins. Then before he could too drift off into sweet slumber, the smell of apple pie wafted into the room from under the door.


	21. It's All Too Much

Holy mother of God, this took forever to write

**Chapter 20:**** It's All Too Much**

**Date:**** 16th August, 2013 (August, part 2)**

* * *

Arthur had crashed out on the couch with the complaint of feeling dizzy. He'd told Francis quite specifically that he didn't want to be disturbed, so the tender Frenchman obediently complied – at first.

"_Cher_, I bought you some tea. Milky with two sugars, just 'ow you like it."

"Fuck off and stop teasing me… you know as well as I do that I can't have caffeine." The Briton mumbled into a cushion in sharp response. Arthur had previously chosen to ask Alfred to look up what he could and couldn't eat or drink during his pregnancy. Unfortunately for Arthur, Alfred had failed to do any intensive research on the subject leading him to hand over the very first facts he had found online – one of which forbidding the consumption of caffeine. And poor, misinformed Arthur had been none the wiser.

Francis put down the cup of tea and knelt beside the couch. Ever so gently he pulled the cushion away from Arthur's face with a disapproving click of his tongue. Arthur was finally beginning to whittle away the last of his patience with this insist of childish behaviour.

"A little bit won't 'urt the baby so as long as you take it in moderation, which I'll personally make sure of. Come, you must drink something. It won't do you any good if you don't." Even if he had to keep Arthur's entire supply of teabags under lock and key, Francis was determined to try and brighten the Briton's dreary afternoons, even if it only meant being able to offer him one small cup of weak tea a day.

"No. Francis, please just go away. I'm not feeling well."

"_Oui_, that's because you're blood sugars are low – again. If you don't want your tea then how about some cordial? I can make you up a warm cup if you'd like if tea won't do." Arthur pulled the cushion back over his face. Because he was laying on his side (the most comfortable position to be in at this moment in time) his shirt had been rolled back over his stomach to give the Frenchman a better view of the gradually growing bump. Arthur looked as though he'd swallowed a ball.

The skin around his abdominal area looked pale and taut, like it wasn't the right size and was being stretched just try and make it fit properly. Resulting stretch marks were highly probable.

Another thing that made Francis frown was that Arthur felt warm to the touch. Not the 'cosy from being bundled up' kind of warmth but something else. Like the off-set of a fever type of warmth. Before he even knew what he was doing Francis brought his hand up and planted it firmly across Arthur's forehead.

"_Cher_… you look flushed. You're not sick, are you?" There was a graveness to the Frenchman's tone that made Arthur feel somehow ashamed.

"N-no. I've just had trouble sleeping as of late," He nudged the hand away with his head and brought one of his own to his swollen middle, "The baby's too restless; it won't let me have five minutes."

As he spoke Francis smoothed the big t-shirt back over Arthur's stomach, nodding as the other spoke. He had the right mind to call the doctor just to be certain – he wanted a second opinion and some advice. Arthur gave a weak little grunt as the Frenchman sat himself up on the couch beside him. Long arms wrapped around Arthur's upper body and pulled him across onto the lap of his ex, who in turn leaned back against the couch. Arthur, initially unresponsive to this bold advancement, seemed to enjoy the touch as he rolled his cheek into the crook of Francis' neck with an appreciative groan.

"Of course 'e is, _mon cher_. That's just 'is way of saying 'Bonjour world! It is me; I am 'ere!'," A smile played on Arthur's lips as Francis' voice momentarily slipped up to the higher note, "It's not long to go now, so it wouldn't do us any good if the little one was forgotten. 'E's just making sure you know 'e's still there."

"There's no way I could possibly forget, Francis. I'm getting bigger every day… God, I hope that doesn't mean there will be any complications."

"There won't be. Remember, if anything goes wrong for you or for Matthew during, before or after the labour, and so as long as you stay 'ere, rest assure you'll be safe and sound. I promise." Hands smoothed through the blonde of Arthur's straw-like hair, the fingers working to unpick a couple of knots that had formed along the crown of his head.

"Will you be needing another 'air cut sometime, _Angleterre_?" He asked, twirling a piece of fringe playfully between a thumb and finger, "It's getting a bit long. I bet it'd 'elp you to keep a bit cooler if I were to trim an inch or two off… maybe we could it done so you look smart for _Amérique's_ return."

A slither of a smile formed weakly on Arthur's lips but the Brit didn't say anything. He was feeling light-headed again. Actually he was grateful to have Francis to lean back on; the Frenchie moulded his body in a way that comfortably supported his own. Francis continued to stroke back the flimsy dirty-blonde fringe to uncover the big mossy-green eyes of Arthur, noting how dim they looked in contrast to the sweat-shine of his forehead. Each time his hand wandered close he could practically feel the heat radiate from the pregnant man.

Gently sliding his hands to catch Arthur by his armpits he pulled the man off his lap and carefully set him on his back beside him on the couch. A cushion was pushed between his head and the arm of the couch and a kiss was pressed to the warm flesh of his forehead.

"Arthur, when was the last time you drank? Was it at lunchtime?"

Arthur nodded, lethargically.

"Alright. I'm going to get you a nice cold glass of juice and then I'm going to call the doctor, no arguments. I want you to be a good boy and stay put for me until I get back. Is that understood?"

"Oh, fuck off… I don't need you treating me like a bloody child."

"But do we have an agreement?"

Hesitant, another nod. Francis kissed the flushed pink of Arthur's cheek and left for the kitchen. As he made up a glass of fresh apple juice for his patient he mentally scolded himself for not noticing Arthur's fever earlier. Now that he thought about it though, the poor Brit had seemed a bit irritable and a tad peaky as of late, not just since trying to get him to take the tea.

He soon returned with a small bowl of cold water and a flannel in one hand, and the glass of juice in the other. As Arthur reluctantly took a few sips of the drink, Francis dipped and wrung the rag before applying it as a compress to his forehead with hopes that it'd help lower his temperature. Then when he was satisfied that Arthur was comfortable for the time being at least he reached for the phone and started to dial the number for Doctor Thompson's surgery. Arthur just moaned. He curled up against the Frenchman the best he could, head on the man's lap whilst the fever burned away much to his discomfort.

* * *

Meanwhile upstairs Gilbert was still lying in the bed in Arthur's room where he'd been placed. Sleep pricked the corners of his bright crimson eyes. The large lump beneath the covers next to him was none other than his dear little Matthew. Occasionally Matthew stirred but didn't wake but in his sleep he butted and rubbed the crown of his head against the German's fine solid chest. Gilbert couldn't help a smirk from rising as he played with the Canadian's stray blonde curl in the very same way that would normally earn him a scolding when the blonde was awake. Matthew looked so beautiful; he wanted the boy to look like this all the time, and only for him. Iain didn't deserve such an angelic face.

The sleeping beauty was admired peacefully for a few minutes more. Then Gilbert bent down and cupped the side of Matthew's cheek in one hand and kissed his lips against the other.

"_Mein süßer junge_," Softly the words were spoken as not to wake the boy before he was ready. Sleep was very important at moment for him after all, "_Mein_ precious baby. I love you so much… I do. _Und_ when you wake I'm going to give you an offer that you can't refuse. You wouldn't want to refuse it anyways, _meine liebe_." Gilbert promised, again inching forward to place another kiss on Matthew's nose.

Somewhere from one of the other rooms Benjamin began to cry, and at once his father snapped from his idle thoughts. A third and final kiss was nuzzled onto Matthew with a whisper of, "I'll be right back, sweetness," and Gilbert sprang from the bed to tend to the infant. He moved too quickly though causing a surge of blood to rush to his head. He momentarily dropped to one knee with a hand clutching at the bandaged wound on the back of his head, the wound still fresh and throbbing with an unpleasant tingle. Groaning he gave it a gentle rub and bravely he brought himself to stand back up. From the other room Benjamin continued to cry out in order to summon one of the many grown-ups that often tended to him.

He reached the door and took the varnished brass in his palm, squeezing tightly and turning until he heard the prompting 'click'. Just before he let himself out, Gilbert peeked over his shoulder. Matthew was still asleep. The hump of his stomach rose and fell with each steadily breathe. Gilbert caught a glimpse of the boy's face and with a smile touching his lips he noticed how each of the blonde's cheeks looked so perfectly round and rosy.

Gilbert had no wish to disturb his love; he just stepped out of the room and took care to close the door behind him as quietly as possible. As he toed his way down the hallway Gilbert kept a steadying hand on the wall to his side to brace himself. The pain persisted though it couldn't bring down the Prussian soldier. In fact, the only thing keeping the ex-nation from succumbing to his wound. Another surge of pain made Gilbert mutely cry-out so that his mouth opened and closed, like a goldfish gulping out of need from being deprived of its precious oxygen.

"Hold on, baby, _vati's_ coming." The man stumbled into the bedroom. The cot was situated in the corner of the room where it always had been, ever since America and France had set it up there. The little 8-month-old wailed, sounding more distraught than before. He only chose to settle when Gilbert scooped him up into his arms and proceeded to cradle his sweet head. Gilbert even took matters a step further by picking up his son's 'Woofy' and presented it by dropping in onto the baby's stomach. Benjamin made a sluggish grab for the plush dog only to throw him deliberately to the ground. He whimpered with a hiccup, little cheeks flushed. Gilbert hushed the child and carried him over to the bed where he sat down and began to rock the small child. But little Benjamin couldn't be soothed by gentle words. He brought a balled fist to his cheek; given the time it had needed the bruise had developed into a rich purply patch that covered the effected cheek nicely, though as Arthur had promised, the injury did not look as serious nor as big as he'd initially thought. It seemed somewhat swollen as well which only brought a heavy wave of guilt over the child's father whom bent to tenderly plant a kiss on his forehead. Benjamin, out of the haze of his agitated state, continued to struggle with the cries escalating into small pained screeches.

It was quite clear from this expected act of behaviour that Benjamin certainly didn't get his set of lungs from Matthew.

Gilbert clucked softly as he carried the infant to the side of the double bed, perching himself at the end with Benjamin being pulled back to be cradled. Benjamin was not quite use to his Vati. Sure, the white-haired man would accompany him during as they played or as he was fed a bottle but almost always Matthew would be close by. And that's who he wanted.

Kumajiro came plodding into the room. He'd come up to investigate the cries with the assumption that it would be his nameless owner that would tend to the baby. Again, Matthew had been too busy to worry about the greedy bear cub for he knew Kumajiro wouldn't drop dead if he missed one pancake and syrup snack. But the cub was about to be stopped, and if it meant pestering Matthew until he caved, well then so be it.

Even when the one who he was seeking was not there, Kumajiro didn't hesitate to wander up to Gilbert's leg. He took the ex-nation's pyjama pant legs in both paws and tugged with a needy grumble, "I'm hungry."

Gilbert took one look at the bear over his crying son before giving his furry side a nudge with his foot.

"Not now." Kumajiro wrinkled his nose crossly as Gilbert began to try and soothe the baby with a German lullaby.

"Hungry. Make me some pancakes." The small white bear gave a disgruntled sigh when Gilbert blatantly ignored him. He patted the man's leg again, enough to bring back his attention.

"Where's the other guy?

Again, no response.

"Hungry." The bear said again, perfectly aware that he wouldn't be heard over the crying baby.

Eventually Gilbert resorted to pleading with the red-faced baby. "Hush, _kleiner_. Please, you'll wake up papa. He's very tired… your little sister makes papa very sleepy. Please…" Actually, by the amount of and sheer volume of the crying done by Benjamin, it surprised Gilbert to see that nobody else rushed to the scene. Where was Francis and Arthur? The Brit had stormed off in such a huff earlier that Gilbert knew he'd be reluctant to return but even Arthur couldn't ignore a child in distress. He was usually among the first to appear when the baby cried.

Gilbert snapped his attention back to the bear who by now was trying to clamber onto the man's already occupied lap. Sharp black claws dug at the thin material of his pyjamas, scratching and pulling the cloth in careless tugs. At once Gilbert wrapped one arm possessively around his son and bought him to his chest for protection against the raking claws of the ursine.

Kumajiro growled softly, a sound that Gilbert deemed threatening. Of all things Gilbert expected from the cub, acting so jealously towards a helpless infant was not one of them. And to think that the cub had been so good with the boy before! But now that he thought about it, Kumajiro had been this way before; when Matthew was in his last trimester the previous year the cub had been the one to spoil special moments and exclusive mealtimes… heck, on more than one occasion he walked in on Gilbert and Matthew during sex!

"_Nein_! Bad bear, get off!" With his free hand Gilbert made a grab for the scruff of the cub's neck, and upon seizing it, he pulled with a sharp jerk and pushed the bear back to the floor where he landed in a furry white heap.

"Hungry. I want some pancakes." It came out as more of a demand this time making the German's crimson eyes narrow.

Before he could even attempt to scold the bear a sagged form appeared in the doorway.

"Mattie! What're you doing out of bed?" Matthew held the weight of his swollen stomach in one hand and rubbed his eye with the other as he waddled awkwardly over. He took one long, sleepy look at his child before casting his eyes over at the older man who simply shook his head.

"_Liebling_, I don't know what to do. He won't stop!" Prompted, Gilbert passed the baby over to the Canadian. Just being in his papa's arms seemed to have some sort of a calming effect on the baby as Benjamin snuggled into the familiar warmth. His restless sobs quietened, muffled by Matthew's chest. The young Canadian whimpered softly. Slowly be blinked, stooping to nuzzle Benjamin's wispy white-blonde hair.

Matthew sat himself on the edge of the bed beside Gilbert. Kumajiro by now had wandered off again leaving the family of three and a half to themselves. The Canadian had unpicked the buttons of his top and encouraged the baby to nurse. Benjamin had been more than happy to oblige to the offer and so took it almost at once leaving Matthew to lightly stroke the back of his head for comfort.

He said nothing though. Matthew still looked more or less asleep with the soft purple of his amethyst closing occasionally for a few seconds. Unsurprisingly it didn't take long for Gilbert to catch onto that little detail. The pale lips of the German curled into a sinister yet playful smile.

Benjamin soon had his fill of milk, so as satisfied as he was he allowed his papa Matthew to pop him back into his cot. Matthew then reached for the prescribed tub of salve that Thompson had left for them and dabbed a bit of the soothing ointment over the length of the rich bruise on Benjamin's sore cheek; it would help heal it, the doc had said. The child's stuffed dog was retrieved from the floor by Gilbert and settled beside the full, drowsy child.

The curtains were drawn before the proud parents departed from the room, Matthew as silent as a mouse and Gilbert beaming brightly with an arm wrapped around the thick pregnant waist.

The way Matthew moved… it seemed odd. It wasn't stiff or empty – clearly the poor boy was tired – but it seemed very relaxed. Natural. It actually reminded Gilbert of the time back when they were living together during the last months of the last time. Matthew looked happier.

They returned to Arthur's room where Gilbert had been bedded down in. Of course he'd want to go back to sleep, Gilbert reason thoughtfully as they settled back in amongst the covers like married lovers. A sinister yet playful smile played on the lips of the paler white-haired male as he observed the other… whom seemed to be gazing at him with such a daring gaze that he couldn't help himself.

He had to have him.

Leaning in, Gilbert pushed a tender kiss to the other's warm cheek, earning him a nudge back that seemed vaguely positive. He put an arm around Matthew's shoulders and drew him close where he took to kissing a particular spot on the junction of his neck, proceeding to lick and nibble possessively at the skin. It helped that the pyjama top was still unbuttoned. It only took a second for Gilbert to jerk it down past Matthew's shoulders where gravity did the rest, the garment sliding down past his wrists where it was deposited in a messy heap onto the mattress.

Matthew gasped when he realised, "G-Gil…!" Slender arms of a milky colour wound their way around the upper torso and locked the boy securely as Gilbert forced himself closer.

"_Liebe_..." Hot breath tickled sensitive skin, leaving a pleasant tingle in its wake as the German man purred the familiar endearment over and over in a sensual tone. And Matthew could've sworn that he caught a warm lustful look from the older male's round crimson orbs. Chapped lips pecked a messy trail of kisses along the prone jawline of the younger, each pressing deeper into the soft skin, lasting longer. Hands caressed the lean chest, moving up and down alternatively, fingertips rubbing circles on the well-known spots that would help trigger further arousal. Matthew couldn't stop a moan from slipping out as he wriggled in Gilbert's arms, his head rolling back as he tried for more of that scrumptious touch.

"No, Gilbert…!"

"Now, now _engel_ ~" Came the hushing reply, Gilbert clearly enjoying himself with no immediate look of stopping, "Let's have none of this." He moved to the side where he gently pressed the boy down into the bed once more using the weight of his own, lips locking on their target. The late afternoon sun leaked in through the windows past the trees of the meagre forest to warm the couple. Gilbert paused momentarily from trying to invade the other's mouth to glance outside. He was nervous that Iain would come home any moment.

At once Matthew picked up on the brief moment of hesitation the other displayed and used it to his advantage. He pushed out both arms, one palm laying spread against Gilbert's chest, the other hand clutching his shoulder on the opposite side.

"G-Gilbert, we can't! Iain will be back any moment, and so will Alfred! What d'you think they'd say if they saw you trying to do this? If they saw me letting you…?"

Gilbert pulled back to free himself of the other's weak grip before returning forward, brushing back the overgrown blonde fringe with a single hand.

"Who cares? He doesn't even like kids, let alone babies. Having Benjamin is one thing but do you think he'd be able to cope with another? Listen; I'll get Ludi to wire us some money. We'll use it to get back to Berlin with Benjamin, before this one's born," He reached back to rub the exposed swollen belly with one hand, "_Und_ then I'll take Feli with me to Canada to help find a nice home for us while Ludwig helps you with the kids. How about it?" He marked the end of his question with a tender kiss to Matthew's nose.

"A-and then what…?" Matthew asked, "I can't abandon my family."

"Would they notice?" Was the immediate response, spoken in a slightly scornful tone.

"W-what?"

"Would they notice? _Liebling_, think about it! Can you remember one time just over a year ago where any of them – Francis included – could remember who you were? When you weren't mistaken for your brother? _Nein_. I've always noticed you, haven't I?"

Matthew nodded very slowly. "Yes…"

"Exactly. All of them only started to give a damn when they realised you were pregnant, moreso when that shit-head vodka-swilling bastard kept you. I know it wasn't for long but they gave up searching for you after a couple of weeks."

"But you kept going…?" The tone of Matthew's voice had dropped into a whisper, becoming rather doubting, "If I remember Gil, y-y-you already jumped into bed with Austria."

The fact that Matthew had even brought that up was enough to make Gilbert's face redden. He enveloped Matthew in a hug.

"Hey… that's not fair, you know. You know damn well that you're the only one I love," Gilbert pulled away very slowly with his gaze falling to his clothes, which were neatly folded over a chair in the corner. He scrambled off the bed and over to the chair, sitting himself on the seat where he began to pull at the folded pair of pants. His fingers wiggled inside the pockets.

"If I didn't love you… I… didn't… love you… where is it?"

Matthew reached for his glasses, which Gilbert had previously placed on the bedside table to avoid damage, and pushed them onto his nose.

"Fuck! It's gone!"

"What're talking about? Gilbert?" Gilbert returned to sit beside the blonde. He slouched, head hanging low with his elbows propped up over his knees.

"Hey, Mattie? Earlier you didn't happen to notice something drop out of my pocket, did you?" Matthew seemed to give the proposed question some thought before he answered.

"N-no. I'm sorry, I didn't see. What did it look like?"

Gilbert sighed.

"Don't worry about it, _Liebling_. I don't want to spoil the surprise." For the time being it seemed as though sex had completely left the German's mind. He was more concerned about where that precious little black box had gone, the very same that he'd kept such a possessive eye over to ensure nobody else saw it before Matthew did.

He simply laid back against the bed, giving Matthew's arm a little tug to encourage him to do the same. But just as the boy was about to however, he suddenly jolted with a start and a gasp, hand snapping to clutch at his stomach.

"A-ah!" Gilbert sprang forward.

"_Liebe_? Hey, are you alright?! Is it the baby?" His voice dripped with worry as the concerned red of Gilbert's eyes met with the lavender of the other's. Gilbert pulled Matthew to his chest, a hand beginning to stroke his sandy locks. Really he did it just to try and reassure himself that nothing had happened.

"The baby. She just kicked. Ouch…" The child would certainly be a strong one if this was how she was now. Although Benjamin hadn't been subtle during his last weeks he had never been as feisty as this little girl… maybe Ivan's genes contributed to her insane strength.

"Y-you worry too much." Matthew added wearily with a small proud smile. Though however proud the young blonde seemed, Gilbert was sure he could detect a hint of sadness. Gilbert pressed him into another hug.

"What would happen if I didn't?"

The situation they were in felt so delicate that it was too difficult for Gilbert to decide what he should do. Matthew was more or less very easy to wind up when he was pregnant, the hormones that flooded his system keeping him constantly at the end of his tether.

Matthew himself had felt much worst, in comparison even a strong kick was just a pinch of pain. The whole pregnancy ordeal on the other hand was making things much, much worse in the long-run though. In truth poor Matthew couldn't wait for it to be over and done with.

"Everything will be fine. Nothing bad will happen. Everything will be fine ~" At some unspecified point Gilbert had started to chant the same words in a low but somewhat soothing voice, with both arms wrapped around his ballooned waist and his head flat against his shoulder?

Gilbert had always found it easy to persuade Matthew, to bend him to his will just by acting in a sweet but meaningful manner. It was never an 'act' though, or at least nowadays it wasn't.

"I love you, Matthew. But please, think about it; I still want you and the kids to run away with me. Ludi wouldn't mind us. He'd help us, he and Feliciano, I swear…! Und you said yourself that you couldn't let a man so prone to violence be near two little kids."

Matthew listened, quiet as a mouse, bottom lip slowly succumbing to the immense pressure of an upper canine tooth, the skin threatening to split at any moment if he continued. Now he was feeling torn. If he denied Gilbert and continued to go with Iain then he'd be contradicting himself and everything he'd earlier said whilst potentially putting the children at risk, moreso when he simply didn't know Iain well enough to predict what the red-haired man was capable of.

Maybe Gilbert was his safest option? He sure as hell wouldn't hurt his own sweet flesh and blood but he wasn't likely to pose a threat to the unborn either.

A little time passed. Matthew was still mulling his thoughts over with the full weight of his own comfortably cradled by the white-haired man that sat behind him, who so lovingly held him whilst stroking his blonde hair. The room wasn't totally silent either, for Gilbert had begun to softly hum a lullaby to ease both Matthew and his daughter – something he so clearly remembered doing for Benjamin many months before.

"We couldn't burden your brother and Italy like that." Matthew told him at last. He was feeling quite comfortable now and so snuggled back into the temperate warmth of Gilbert's arms, resting his cheek against his shoulder.

Gilbert responded to the neediness of the blonde by kissing his cheek. "Are you still breaking up with Iain? I promise, I can _und_ will do better than him."

"I want what's best for Benjamin and this little girl, so if he can't cool his attitude when he's around them then I don't want him to be anywhere near us. But… Gil? Will you do something for me?"

Gilbert, who'd been nodding away, buried his nose in Matthew's hair.

"_Ja_, anything. What?"

"Iain won't let me out of the house. Every time I ask if we can go out to the village park or out for a night in the city or for a walk around the grounds, he tells me it's too risky and he puts it off. I'm getting so bored with staying in all day!"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I think he just doesn't want the hassle. It's like he thinks it'll induce labour if I go for a small walk! I've told him about how when I was pregnant with Ben that I was walking three miles through four foot of snow just to get to the store for food, and how I was doing housework and snow-shovelling. He's smothering me!"

Amusement touched Gilbert's lips pulling them up into a broad grin that stretched from ear to ear. These stories sounded all-too familiar. Why, he could clearly remember the time when a heavy-bellied Matthew convinced him to accompany him on an uphill hike through the Canadian forest that had been his back garden.

Just thinking about it makes my thighs hurt… Gilbert thought with a grin, recalling how he'd collapsed in bed afterwards whilst Matthew had proceeded to go shopping.

"So you want me to back you up next time you ask?"

"Or maybe next time you can be my escort ~?" Matthew suggested, shyly hiding himself. Gilbert was still smiling as he turned the younger blonde on his lap, just a bit so that he could see the side of the other's face. He couldn't help a smirk as he squashed the other into another hug whilst trying to mind where he squeezed.

"I'd love to, _schatz_." And he pushed in to capture the other's lips in a deep passionate kiss.

* * *

Francis was in a bit of a state downstairs. He had Arthur, horribly uncomfortable and sweaty, curled up beside him on the couch. The doc couldn't come out; apparently Thompson was too busy dealing with one of his human patients to attend to the sickly Nation. Fine. Who needed him?

Perhaps it wasn't a fever induced by viral or bacterial infection – it had all come on too quickly for anything of the sort to happen.

Maybe the weight of the pregnancy along with the general sickliness of his country's economy was just getting too much to bear. That was perfectly understandable, wasn't it? Recession had always hit the poor British Nation in the worst ways.

"Alright, _mon cher_," Francis purred as he tried to sit the Briton up using himself as a brace, producing a bottle of medicine and a spoon from the coffee table, "I found this cold and fever medicine in the cupboard under the sink. It's grape flavour so 'opefully it won't be too unbearable to take, and the bottle says that it's safe to take if pregnant." A spoonful was measured out and pushed to the Briton's lips for him to take. Arthur eyed the translucent purplish syrup before him and for a moment Francis thought he'd reject it. Instead Arthur parted his lips and allowed the head of the spoon to be slid into his mouth where he got a mouthful of the medicine, the flavour of which in no way resembled grape.

"Good. Well done, _cher_. Now 'ave something to drink." The spoon was set aside to be replaced by a glass of orange squash that Francis had also brought out. The bitter aftertaste of the medicine didn't mix well with the sweet sharp flavour of the cordial making Arthur shudder with a cough. Francis patted his back. He encouraged him to take another sip before settling him back down against the couch, the cool flannel replaced on his forehead. To his surprise Arthur tried to sit back up, holding a hand to his forehead to try and remove the wet rag.

"Th-thank you, Francis… but you really don't need to do this for me. I'm quite capable-"

"_Non, non_… just relax. _Amérique_ and those big brothers of your's would never forgive me if I didn't do everything I could for you and the baby." As he spoke Arthur found himself being nestled back down. Just for good measure the Frenchman pulled the lightweight blanket from the armchair and draped it over the restless Arthur. "I'll only be in the kitchen, so if nobody else is around and you want something just give me a shout and I'll come straight in, alright?"

Arthur didn't reply so Francis took the silence as a yes. The Briton looked so overwhelmed that he decided it'd just be best to let him rest whilst he worked on dinner in the kitchen, well out of the way.

Just as the Francis got up to leave, Arthur reached out for his hand, however he missed and ended up grasping the cuff of the older man's shirt instead.

"When's Alfred going to be home? Has he called?"

"I'm afraid not, _cher_. But they shouldn't be long now. Your brother set off well over an 'our and a 'alf ago, so let's try to be patient," Francis replied as he worked to gently ease Arthur's fingers from his shirt sleeve with a smile, "'Ow about you settle down for a nice nap? It would do you good."

Arthur shook his head weakly. "No… 'm not tired. Could you switch the telly on for me instead?"

"Of course. In the meanwhile I'll start to run you a nice cool bath. You dripping in sweat and to be 'onest I don't think anyone will appreciate the smell later on. A bath will do you a world of good."

So Arthur was left with the remote control and his drink, bundled in a blanket on the couch whilst Francis went upstairs. The little Brit eagerly awaited the arrival of the American, whom he was so keen as to label the father of his child. He was certain.

It wasn't long before Francis returned. He carried Arthur upstairs to the ensuite where his tepid bubble bath waited. Francis insisted on staying to help him safely in and out of the tub. He snuggled against the cosy warmth of the water, which was neither uncomfortably too hot or too cold for the man's liking. Francis took the liberty to chuck the sweated pyjamas into the laundry basket in favour for some fresh ones. It then occurred to Francis as he later helped Arthur change into them after the bath that the Briton had gone through nearly four sets of pyjamas in the past week alone.

Arthur seemed much better by the time he was back downstairs. Those cool baths were wonderful, especially as he struggled to maintain his internal temperature nowadays. His skin was quite often made itchy and clammy which only distressed him when he tried (and failed) to soothe himself. His ankles, although swollen, were not quite half as bad.

Francis fed him another spoonful of medicine before they relaxed together on the couch to catch the rest of an old black and white that was on the TV, Francis tenderly massaging the younger man's shoulders. Just before coming downstairs Francis had stopped to check in on Gilbert and Matthew. He'd knocked on the door, and when all seemed well he saw no point in entering the room so he left them to it – whatever it was they were up to.

The film was closing into the end credits when they heard the front door and a gruff voice call out in a thick Scottish accent.

"Dish up thee dinner lads, we're home at long last!" At once the pair on the couch glanced to the door that lead out to the foyer. Francis patted Arthur on the thigh to signal for him to shift so he could get up.

"Ooh aye, I'm starvin'. What're we gonna be eatin'?" Dylan appeared in the doorway carrying a large suitcase and a rucksack. He was grinning brightly as usual with the unripen almond-green eyes of his sparkling at the prospect of getting his belly full of good cooking. "Lamb, is it?" He asked hopefully giving the air a good sniff. There was definitely something cooking in the kitchen.

"Welcome 'ome." Francis greeted the brothers with a smile. He stood in the doorway of the living room leaning against the frame. Arthur stood slightly behind, trying to keep from being seen by either of his big brothers. Where was Alfred? He was here, wasn't he?

"Oi!" Arthur glanced up with a look of fear as the tone of big brother Wales' voice sounded harsh. He felt uneasy as he shifted his weight from foot to foot, a hand automatically reaching down to stretch the shirt he wore over his more than obvious baby bump with a hard blush. The frown withered from Dylan's face only to be taken over by a stupid little grin with his arms stretched out.

"What're ya doin' standing all the way over there, ya daft thing! Come give ya big bro a hug, let's get a look at ya."

Shyly and feeling very hesitant, Arthur inched forward. He was fully aware and rather conscious of his size but with the knowledge that he would only get bigger from this point on it made the blonde Brit stuck between feeling ashamed and embarrassed. Dylan on the other hand seemed delighted as he abandoned his luggage and swooped forward to crush his younger sibling into a loving hug.

"Aw, me babby brother gonna be a mammy~" He cheered before Iain pried the boisterous brunette from their brother before damage could be done to their would-be niece or nephew.

"Settle down. Good Lord, Arthur, I swear ter God he's been yammering on 'bout seeing ye since we left thee airport car park. Ye would've thought that he was thee one havin' thee baby!" Iain grumbled as he tugged Dylan clean out of the way. Arthur smiled, humbled by this news but not before shuffling forward to take a peep out of the front door.

"Is Alfred…?"

Iain followed the dimmed gaze of his brother. "Aye, he is. Poor bastard conked out as soon as we got him in thee back seat of me car." Arthur seemed to lay on the subtlest of pouty-faces as he was told. Only Francis knew how much he'd been pining though he'd never admit it, so he'd settled for the Frenchman as second-best just to ease the pain.

Moving his head close to the Welshman's ear as he put an arm around his shoulders, Iain whispered a low command, "Go stick thee kettle on fer us." And sent him on his way with a pat.

Iain then began to make his way back out to the car to collect the American without another word. Arthur watched from afar as Iain carefully maneuvered the limp body of his boyfriend from the backseat of the car. Alfred had the most peaceful expression on his face; his lips were shaped into a small, happy smile that made him look innocent and cute, and Arthur could only guess that the inside of the car had been warm for the man's skin had taken on a soft pinkish hue. As Iain approached, he rolled Alfred carefully in his arms to cry and make carrying him more comfortable for them both.

"Gilbert's still using my room," He told the Scot quickly as he came through the door with his heavy cargo.

"Fine," Came the gruff reply, "Will thee settee do?"

"Probably."

"Good, cos that's where I'm puttin' him!" It wasn't like the sofa would be uncomfortable; on the contraire Arthur imagined that Alfred would be quite happy with waking up on the plush piece of furniture, especially seeing as he probably spent a good deal of time sitting on his ass on his own one back at home.

He was carefully set down minutes later, positioned so that his head was resting on against the arm of the couch. Arthur even crawled on to lay beside him (or half on top of him as it ended up like). He pulled the blanket over their already-warm bodies – it just seemed cosier this way. Iain and Francis said nothing. They just dispersed from the room, Iain heading to the kitchen to check up on Dylan and the tea, Francis lightly padding upstairs to let Gilbert and Matthew know that they'd arrived and drinks were going to be served in case they wanted some.

Arthur in the meanwhile was silently enjoying the presence of his lover. In fact he was more than content with lying across the younger man's broad chest with the tips of his fingers gently tracing over every nook and cranny of his sleeping form, doodling shapes on his chest to try and make time go by faster. It fascinated Arthur to see that Alfred was still dressed in the suit he wore to meetings; his first guess was that he hadn't been able to change since the last one which had probably finished either late last night or this morning.

Eventually it got to the point where Arthur grew impatient of waiting. He inched closer and pressed his lips to Alfred's for a kiss.

"Sweetheart ~" He purred in an unusually soft, silky voice, "Sweetheart, it's time to wake up. Come on, luv." Arthur brushed back the other's fringe where he bumped their foreheads together. Alfred's baby blue orbs began to flutter open. He blinked slowly and took in the somewhat familiar surroundings of the living room – but what made a dopey smile form was when he noticed the blissfully sweet face of Arthur, who was lying beside him.

"Hey babe," He yawned, leaning in to kiss the end of the other's nose, "Have I been asleep? Dammit, I'm bushed."

"Yes, you have. What've you been doing to tucker yourself out like this?" The Brit inquired, snuggling closer. Alfred wrapped his arms around the not-so-tiny waist of his boyfriend, finally now discovering the Briton's new-found weight.

"My boss is just real good at keeping me busy, is all… Hey, you feel kinda squishy~" Alfred pulled away with a face full of smiles. "Whoa…" He said, his tone of voice changing to that of someone who was surprised, "You're kinda fat, aren't you?"

If that didn't deserve a slap to the face, Arthur didn't know what did.

"Ouch, hey! What was that for?"

"You had it coming! I can't help how big the baby makes me look," Arthur whimpered as he shuffled off of the American's chest, sliding onto the couch beside him. "And I've still got a long way to go. I'm almost as big as Matthew already which can't be good either… you still love me, right?" There was a short pause.

"…Of course I do, babe."

"What was that?"

"What was what?"

"You hesitated."

"I was thinking! Geez, don't be so paranoid." Alfred sat up suddenly. The childish smile had gone, replaced by a scowl. Alright so maybe he didn't expect Arthur to look so… large. Big deal, it was bound to happen and he knew it. He sighed with a small shake of his head, the scowl finally melting away. Arthur was sat cross-legged on the opposite seat with big watery eyes.

"Hey, don't cry babe. We've only been talking for a couple of minutes and already I've made you feel like shit?"

"I just missed you… a-and I thought… oh, who am I kidding? You've always liked me for my looks, haven't you? Y-you shallow bastard-"

"Arthur, calm down…"

"-I hate you!"

"Sweetheart… babe, you don't mean that… you're over reacting."

"No I'm not!" Arthur struggled to his feet but the swollen bump of his stomach made it difficult to do so. He succeeded in the end, clutching the sofa arm for support. "I've a-a-always known that you don't really c-c-care about me… you just want me for sex and m-my body… you don't want this baby either, do you?"

"Arthur-"

"I knew it! And I bet that 'business' trip was just an excuse to make me suffer alone. You selfish bastard! Why don't you just go straight back to Washington, because I sure as hell don't want you in my country!"

"Babe, you're being ridiculous-"

"Who's being ridiculous?! What's ridiculous is that I'm so stupid as to actually think you want this baby… a-and, do you know what, Alfred? I've tried to get you excited about the baby by telling you that you're most definitely the father."

Alfred, taunted by this odd segment of news, swallowed thickly.

"What? Are you saying I'm not the father of this baby?" Arthur looked somewhat regretful with what he was saying, yet at the same time he was getting a feeling of satisfaction and his words showed no positive sound of remorse.

"You might be. I can't say for certain, even if I wanted to."

"…So you cheated on me. Who did you sleep with?! When?! Was it Francis?"

Arthur nodded.

"Yes. I don't see why you're getting so worked up… I woke up in the same bed with both of you that morning, the one after Antonio's birthday. You were fast asleep on my right and he… was on my left, grinning like a Cheshire cat," Very slowly Arthur began to waddle to the door with an arm cradling his belly with an expression that was unmistakably down and close to tears, "As well as yourself, he's a prime candidate to being the child's father. And if you don't want the baby then maybe he'd be the better choice for me to be with! At least he knows how to care for an infant."

"I never said I didn't want the baby! Stop saying that!"

"But do you?! Alfred, if you really don't want to be involved with the baby then leave. I've cared for many colonies, one of which was yourself. I'll manage fine on my own without you, because to be honest Alfred, with you it'll be like having two children, not one and I really don't want the extra burden." At that the Briton hurried from the room leaving a stunned Alfred lying on the couch.

"What was that all about?" Alfred glanced to the door. Dylan was standing holding a tea-tray with a couple of steaming mugs and a plate of biscuits on top.

"Oh hey. I dunno, dude. Arthur's just… I really don't know."

"He's upset, eh?" Dylan sat himself down in the empty couch seat and set the tray down on the coffee table. "Ah don't worry too much about it, boyo. Just now, out in tha kitchen Froggy said somethin' about tha poor lad having a bit of a fever. Tea? Coffee? Or d'you want a bicky?" To the offer Alfred took a biscuit from the plate and was just starting to lick off the chocolate when his head kicked into gear.

"Hold on. He's got a fever?"

"Aye. Now don't worry, lad. Tha excitement of having you home along with the pregnancy and fever is just a bit overwhelming. Don't take anything he says to ya to heart. The hormones are just going to his head." Dylan scoffed down a couple of biscuits and half a mug of tea from the cup intended for Arthur. Alfred just sat hunched over with his coffee cup held on one knee and the other free hand dunking a chocolate chip cookie in the now-warm liquid.

"Hey, can I ask you something, dude?"

"Mm?" Dylan turned to look at his companion with bright almond green eyes.

"Arthur… he said… he said either me or Francis could be the baby's dad. And somehow he's got it in his head that I don't want anything to do with them… him and the baby, that is." Now Alfred half expected Dylan to jump up in shock, like Iain might do, and go off to scold Arthur whilst belittling him as nothing more than a little slut. Alfred didn't know what kind of man Dylan was. But he seemed quite calm as he sipped his tea.

"Do ya want to be with them?" He asked at last, bending forward to snag the last biscuit. Alfred shot him a horrified look.

"Yes of course I do! For God's sake, do I really look like I'd abandon him now?"

"Well, what if there was something wrong with tha baby? What if tha baby was sick or had a handicap, or what if Arthur became really sick? Would you leave him? Cos personally, if me babby brother was ill from labour I'd stay with him, even if no-one else would. Now I know I'd be the kid's blood relative anyways but I still wouldn't be it's daddy, but I still do it cos I love me brother. Do you love me brother as well as I? Enough to want to look after his baby even though it might well be Froggy's?"

"I… yes. Even if I'm not I couldn't leave Arthur to his self." The young American glowered into the mug of coffee with an obvious sort of sadness. Fuck, what if Arthur wasn't just being ruled by his hormones? What if everything he was saying wasn't just him being mellow dramatic?

Dylan drained the last of his drink and set it with a clunk on the tray. He patted Alfred's knee making him look up with a start.

"Come lad, let's go find him and get tha whole thing sorted… he's upstairs, is he? Actually, when we're done I want to get back to tha kitchen; I saw a rather nice looking pie on tha side and I really fancy a slice ~"

As he began to wander from the room with a thoughtful smile to what kind of pie it was, Alfred's face lit up. Carelessly he pushed the mug onto the side and to his feet he scrambled to follow the older male.

"Hold on, wait for me!" He begged, very nearly tripping as he reached the bottom of the staircase. Dylan was ascending them quickly so the American took chase, taking the stairs two or three at a time with a swiftness that allowed him to catch up quickly.

Once upstairs their search for the little Brit began.

* * *

**AN:** Well, that took me too friggen long to write. To begin with it took me just over a week and a half to write half of the original of this chapter. Then I wasn't happy with it so I scrapped it and started over, and dammit now I'm still not 100% happy with it all. But, I like it enough, I guess, even if it is just moody hormone-enriched Arthur and horny Gilbert =_=  
My apologies.


	22. The Break-up (part 1)

I keep telling myself that the chapters will get shorter =_=

Then I'm like 'Ha-ha... no.'

Little note: if there's a conversation between two or more characters written entirely in italics, then it means they're not speaking English.

**Chapter 21: The Break-up (part 1)**

**Date: ****16th August, 2013 (August, part 3)**

* * *

Considering the size of the first floor, it didn't take long for Wales and America to come to the conclusion that Arthur was in none of the three bedrooms. On the other hand they did stop in to say a quick 'hello' to Matthew and Gilbert. Matthew had been so pleased to see his big brother that he couldn't help but greet him with a crushing hug. They exchanged a few words, including a promise that Alfred had brought back some presents from his trip, a few of which had been picked especially for his future niece and little Benjamin.

When Alfred decided to leave Gilbert and Matthew (he was none the wiser; he assumed Iain had had given into his previous demand to let Gilbert have a chance with the Canadian rather than the truth that they were sneaking about), he turned to find that Dylan was already gone.

Hurrying out onto the landing he began to re-search the bedrooms and he even checked out the study, hoping that Arthur was just having some quiet time with a book on the green velvet settee.

He had no such luck in finding the Briton like he had hoped so proceeded to search the upstairs again. When he passed the bathroom, he paused in mid-step. Coming from the other side of the door he was certain he could hear a voice, someone talking to another it seemed. Alfred's suspicions were confirmed when he put an ear to the door to hear who. One voice, bold as brass, spoke in a firm yet comforting tone to the other voice, who didn't speak but rather they sobbed quietly. The first voice Alfred had quickly recognised as being Dylan.

"There there, lad. Now then, are ya goin' ta calm down for ya big brother?" There was a very short pause.

"No? Oh, come on lad! At least crack a smile for us." Silence again, save for the soft sobbing that Alfred assumed was Arthur. "Okay. Would you like me ta get ya somethin' ta nibble? Maybe a drink...? ... Are ya sure?"

Alfred moved his head away from the door and instead rapped on the hard wood three times.

"Yeah? If ya need the loo, it's occupied! Use one of the ensuites or somethin'." Dylan called out almost immediately.

"No, it's me; America. Can I come in? Is Arthur in there with you?"

"Oh. Aye, 'e is. Door's unlocked." Alfred took the cold brass doorknob and let himself in, the door squeaking on its aged hinges. Dylan was seated back on the closed lid of the toilet. Arthur was curled up on his lap with his back to the bathroom door and his heavy body supported by the cradling arms of his older sibling. He was looking over his head to look at Alfred, but even from where he currently stood Alfred could very clearly that the blonde's eyes were red. Tears stained the length of his cheeks, marking the pinked flesh with small narrow channels which were refreshed with every new tear that formed and gradually fell. Arthur's pyjama pants were spotted where the tears had rolled off of his chin and landed on the material, rendering them slightly damp to the touch and sticky.

"Hey Artie…" Alfred said in a low gentle voice, the kind you might use when approaching an injured feral animal, "You okay?"

"'E's just fine." Dylan assured, using a hand to encourage Arthur to rest comfortably against his shoulder. "I reckon 'e's just a bit knackered. Baby's takin' it all out of 'im, poor sod. Pass us that flannel, will ya?" Dylan pointed to a small wet blue flannel which was sitting in the water-filled basin. Alfred did as he was told and wrung it out before promptly handing it over to the Welshman. Dylan folded the flannel and held it out over the Briton's head though not before giving it a quick feel with the other hand.

"…'E's a bit too warm for my liking." He concluded as the damp flannel was put on with the intention to try and stunt the fever. Arthur groaned quietly and wriggled to get more comfortable.

"Dylan…" He whimpered with a fresh tear in his eye. He buried his face into his brother's sweater and sniffled, fingers clutching at the woolly material.

"Aye, I know. There's a good lad," Dylan murmured, nuzzling the Brit's mop of blonde. He looped an around Arthur's shoulders to keep him close as he whispered sweetly into his ear. Alfred just stood there dumbly. He felt a mixture of guilt and worry for his boyfriend; England, a man who was usually one who had always stood tall with pride only now to be pathetically sniffling in his big brothers arms. A feeling of nostalgia also tugged at Alfred; had he himself been like this as a child?

"'Ere lad," Dylan beckoned the young blonde over, "'E ain't lookin' too grand, is 'e?" Alfred deemed it safe to kneel down beside them wearing a sympathetic smile.

"No, he's not… what can I do?" Dylan pulled Arthur carefully up into his arms, pressing the round-bellied figure of his brother firmly against his chest. Arthur gave a feeble kick of protest but it was no use. He hadn't any energy.

"What you can do is take this one ta bed whilst I run downstairs and see if there's any medicine. Froggy will know." When Dylan slumped Arthur into Alfred's arms and hurried for the door, the American's first reaction was to pull him back. But, seeing as his arms were now full and the Welshman was quicker than he could ever have thought, he was simply left standing with his whimpering pregnant boyfriend. Arthur didn't seem to care either way. He just wrapped his arms around Alfred's neck and sobbed quietly.

_**First things first,**_ Alfred thought,**_ I need to get him to bed._**  
Maybe if he did it all on his own… maybe then Arthur would see he really did care.

By the time Dylan had found them, Arthur was laying between the cool sheets on the sofa bed Gilbert had previously slept in, panting softly, eyes shut. Alfred was trying to fan him down with a French magazine he'd found on the side. He was relieved when Dylan came in sporting a glass of water and the icky grape medicine.

"Froggy gave it to me." The Welshman explained. He measured out a good dose on a spoon he'd bought up and Alfred helped Arthur to sit up by sliding behind him and using his own body to prop the other up whilst the medicine was administered.

"Sorry kiddo, but ya need ta take this. Try not ta fuss for ya big brother, alright? Now say 'aah'." Arthur took the medicine before he realised. He spent no expense in savouring the bitter-sweet flavour, nor did he really want to think about how it had the consistency of a blob of snot. He just swallowed it all down with only a cringe to let his peers know how he felt.

"Good boy. One more." Dylan held another spoonful to Arthur's lips. Well there was no way Arthur was going to take it! He drew his head away and buried it into Alfred's arm.

"Fuck off. I don't need another." He grumbled.

"C'mon, Artie… I already poured it. Just down it and I'll leave you alone, alright?" It took a little longer and a bit of encouragement but finally Arthur was cajoled into taking the second dose and a sip from the glass of water.

Afterwards the weak Briton fell deep into the arms of his loving partner, melting into his touch. He didn't care what happened now. The only thing Arthur so wished for by this point was to have that baby out of him. He doubted Alfred would ever have to experience the same thing, so he concluded that he wouldn't be able to understand. Arthur just wanted this baby _gone_.

"Hey babe…" Alfred kissed Arthur's cheek when the Welshman finally left, "You feelin' alright? Want anything more to drink?" Arthur shook his head lethargically. He touched his swollen belly almost tenderly with a finger, drifting it over the taut skin. He whimpered when for the first time his eyes spotted the first small stretch marks on the side of his body, more disgruntled then pained by this point.

A large hand smoothed over his own, pushing Arthur's hand flat against the big bump.

"I just want to sleep, Al… I don't like this. I can't do this. This baby is stressing me out, I can't handle it! I just want to do everything I could do before; I want to have my morning and afternoon tea. I want to enjoy a glass of scotch in the evenings. For Christ sake, I want to be able to go out for a walk around London without someone thinking there's something seriously wrong with my stomach!"

Alfred tried to be empathetic towards his boyfriend. He wrapped his long, muscular arms around the smaller blonde's torso in a way that cradled him, and pulled him into a hug.

"I'm sorry you feel like that, babe. Is there anything I can do?"

"You can get this bloody baby out of me."

Alfred chuckled but Arthur looked dead serious, which only made Alfred laugh harder. Arthur tried to turn away from the younger man only for his stomach to catch, so instead he settled with burying his nose in Alfred's sleeve. Alfred was still wearing his business suit from a meeting from earlier. In a way it was nice for Arthur to see him dressed so smartly, but… it really didn't suit him.

As the laughter died down, Alfred gently pulled the blanket over them. The sofa bed wasn't terribly comfortable but Arthur knew his bed was taken by the white-haired German up until his head was feeling better. That wasn't really the problem though. Alfred could always make for a substitute mattress; he was warm and squishy enough. A bed was the least of his worries.

"Alfred, I really don't want this baby. I can't."

"Babe… sweetheart, don't say that. We can do it, and I promise I'll be the best daddy ever!"

"That's not what I'm worried about. I… I don't know if I can raise a child." Alfred seemed unconvinced.

"No way! You've raised tons of kids! To name a few, Mattie, and then for a while there was that Hong-Kong kid and Sealand. Then there's also Australia and New Zealand… and me! See, that's like six kids already!"

Arthur faced Alfred, wriggling in his arms until he was looking up at the big blue eyes of his lover. "Alfred, do you see a reoccurring pattern with the six you mentioned?"

"Erm… they were all guys?"

"No, you _dolt_. You're all Nations. A young Nation is perfectly capable of looking after themselves from even the earliest of ages. You're a perfect example of that, aren't you? But a human child needs all the love and attention in the world in order to grow. Without being nurtured properly they can become sick, they grow up feeling neglected or wrongly-done… and in that case only the parent is to blame. I don't want to do the baby wrong by not raising it properly."

As he spoke Arthur's voice began to crack and his green eyes, which were dim with the pain and distraught of pregnancy, welled up. There was then a silence filled only by Arthur's gentle sniffling. Alfred patted his mop-head of straw-blonde hair and bent his head to lovingly kiss his cheek.

"We can do it. Look, babe, I know you said that there's a chance the kid isn't mine, but it's a chance that I'm willing to take. Got it? I'm not leaving you. And, I don't care if you think I'm too immature to care for a kid-"

"You're practically one yourself."

"-I'm not going anywhere. I know it might seem impossible right now, and our bosses probably won't allow it, but… but I'll marry you if I have to. I love you so much. You've done so much for me."

Arthur would've blushed if it weren't for the fact that his face was already an unhealthy shade of pink. The medicine was beginning to kick in at long last, bringing with it a wave of fatigue which the fever only magnified.

"Hey babe? You okay?" Alfred nudged the other. With a soft moan Arthur fell limp in his arms like a lump of jelly. There was a soft whimper and Arthur looked up at him with doe-eyes.

"Hey, get some rest now. I'm going to take a shower and get changed into something more comfortable." Despite how eager he was to get into some jeans and a shirt, Alfred tried to be as delicate as possible as he shifted Arthur from his lap. However, when Alfred got up to leave he was tugged back as Arthur clutched his arm in both hands, like a child would.

"Don't go. Don't go, please…" Alfred turned back to him with concern filling his sky blue eyes.

"Babe, I'm not going to be away for long. I just want to freshen up a bit. I've been on a plane for eight hours without a chance to wash. I'll be right back, I promise." He thought this would be enough to convince Arthur. The fever really seemed to be making him worse though.

"N-no, please, stay… don't leave me." A final weak tug later and Alfred was back on the bed next to the pregnant England. He lay down beside Arthur with his arms holding the smaller man close to his body with the intention of waiting until he fell asleep or at least calmed down before making his hasty escape for the bathroom. Arthur seemed content with the unspoken arrangement. He just curled up with a tear in his eye and allowed Alfred to comfort him until at long last he succumbed to a fever-induced sleep with the damp flannel clinging to the man's warm skin.

* * *

Two hours passed. The lonely house on the edge of the forest was abuzz with the voices of seven people, excluding the extra voice of an extremely lively baby and a fussy bear cub. Dinner was being served and every member of the household was congregating around the dining room table for the lamb casserole Francis had made.

Arthur seemed much better. When he came down the staircase with Alfred his eyes looked much brighter. The warm colour from his cheeks had gone down as had his temperature. The poor man was still in a state of confusion and disorientation but now that he had Alfred permanently at his side like an old faithful dog there wasn't much worry.

Matthew was a little quiet at lunch. Iain was still possessively keeping him from Gilbert, even going as far as sitting next to the blonde at the dining table whilst the German jealously sat opposite. Whenever he thought Iain wasn't looking Gilbert would mouth things like 'I love you' across the table towards his gorgeous little Matthew, who blushed profoundly. He was sat at the end of the table where he had better access to Benjamin. The baby wasn't his usual bubbly self which Matthew decided was caused by teething, made not-so-obviously by the fact that his first tooth had already made an appearance and the cap of the second was pushing through.

Meanwhile, a big discussion was taking place between the elder nations.

"_Angleterre_ 'as another 'ouse in the city, a bigger 'ouse. If we move there then there'll be much more room for all of us and we'll be closer to the 'ospital and the doctor if something does 'appen." Francis pointed out. He was beginning to get rather pissed off with Scotland, whom was throwing off the idea off like it was actually worse than staying in the current residence.

"We don't need ta move right this second."

"_Mathieu's_ due date is less than two months away and Arthur's is three. Something could very well 'appen to either of them. What if one of them goes into premature labour? What if there are difficulties?"

"We're not going anywhere."

Matthew looked over and timidly tried to speak up, "U-uh, a-actually Iain-"

"What? We're not goin' anywhere an' that's final!" Matthew recoiled immediately as Iain snapped at him. Gilbert wrinkled his nose with the look in his crimson eyes growing dangerous.

"…I agree with Francis." Arthur said. He looked to Alfred for some sort of support. "I don't want to encounter any complications. Really, I'd like the birth to go as smoothly as possible and if that can be achieved by just being a few minutes closer to the doctor than that's what I want.

"Yeah, I second that. Like hell I'm gonna risk my baby or Artie." Alfred clutched at Arthur's hand, squeezing it gently beneath the table and out of the sight.

As Dylan listened to the back and forth arguing of the eldest two Nations, he made up his mind as well. He lifted his hand up to signal his vote, and not wanting seem like a bad guy he said spoke in a firm and decisive tone, "I third it."

Of all things Iain expected, the fact that the brother who usually was so quick to follow him was turning his back on the Scot in favour of the Frenchman's suggestion.

"Thee hell are ye playin' at?"

"Be fair now, Scotty. This is Arthur's first and it ain't gonna be easy on him. Tha least we could do for 'em is make it as easy an' risk-free as possible."

Iain could see that he wasn't going to get any support from either of his brothers. "We've got everything we need out here. There's a village with thee little corner shop and chemist, there's a pub… what more do we need?"

Francis tilted back the last dregs of wine from his glass, smacking his lips with a soft 'aah' afterwards to try and savour the sweet-dry flavour.

"Well, I can see what the majority is, Iain," The Frenchman grinned his victory at the Scot before turning to address the rest of the table, "It's going to be getting dark soon, so I propose that after this lovely meal we gather the animals and a few packed bags. I'll take Arthur, Benjamin and _Mathieu_ to the 'ouse in my car. Gilbert can come as well so as long 'e promises to go straight to bed when we get there." All eyes moved at some point to look over at the East German for a second before returning to France. Gilbert hated the fact that Francis was talking as though he were a child. He slumped forward on the table with his chin resting on a hand with his elbow propping him up.

"I don't need any more bed-rest." He said in protest. Francis shook his head, casually pointing a spoon in his direction.

"We don't need another concussion, _mon amis_. We all saw you nearly fall over a fair few times when you were coming down the 'all just now. But, I suppose if you're feeling up to it you're more than welcome to stay 'ere and 'elp pack whilst someone else stays to keep an eye on Arthur and _Mathieu_."

"For God sake, we're not children," Arthur said, a slight growl in his voice. "We don't need someone watching us every minute of the day. What, do you think that by being left for five seconds labour will be induced?"

The silence that followed only validated the Englishman's point; making the likes of the eldest two Nations think for a moment that perhaps he was right. It all ended when Dylan decided to challenge this thought with a childish answer which was even more expected to be heard from him than it would have been from America. "But what if it does?"

"Oh shut up." Iain moved over to slog his brother one when Matthew tugged on the rolled sleeve of his jacket.

"Th-that won't happen, will it…?" Even when Matthew had been carrying Benjamin the year before, there had rarely been a time when Gilbert hadn't been with him. They'd gone out together to do the weekly shopping and the only instances which he could recall being left alone was during the final weeks when Matthew had been too heavy to want to go far. The thought that maybe the baby would be born if he was left alone scared him immensely.

"Course not, pett. Taffy's just bein' a stupid toss, is all."

"Was just askin' a question… an' don't call me that! Ain't nice, yanno." Really, despite how much he disliked the improper insult-turned nickname, Dylan knew that whenever Iain used it, it would mean his hide was safe. He never used the 'endearment' out of pure hate or anger. No, he had better names saved for times like that.

"Stop yer bitchin' an' eat yer dinner. We're not goin' an' that's final. We're perfectly fine where we are." Gilbert could see the red-haired man glowering from across the table; an unpleasant grin that was aimed directly at him, taunting and sly. He'd quickly learnt from Matthew during their time together that Iain was not a shy man, be it in bed or at the dinner table.

From where he was sitting Arthur had a good view of the goings on; not that he seemed to care at this precise moment. The English Nation was sat quietly with his head bowed, shirt rolled up over his stomach and three fingers sliding over the prominent curve that had seemed to have sprung up within only a few months.

Alfred noticed the dreamy look in the other's eye as he continued to investigate his stomach. It could've just been the medicine's effect on Arthur that made him seem that way. It also could've just been pregnancy hormones, drowsiness or even the knowledge that he wouldn't be alone with the baby, or any number of other things that the American couldn't comprehend.

He leaned into Arthur, putting an arm around his shoulders to lessen the space between them, kissed him lightly on the temple then pulled away a fraction to privately mutter, "You okay?" into his ear.

Arthur affirmed with a simple 'Mm-hm'. He was too distracted to really pay much mind to the younger man. He was far too busy already – especially right this second. The unborn child had begun to kick with all it's strength which made it difficult for Arthur to want to look anywhere else. The light touch of his fingers on tight skin quickly turned to his entire palm cradling the bump with a smile on his lips that only read delight. Alfred smiled. He propped his chin up on Arthur's shoulder to look down at the stomach with the pride of a father-to-be. A father-to-be who secretly hoped that out of the two possible fathers, he would be it.

Meanwhile from Arthur's other side Francis began to admire the couple. Jealously was an ugly thing. It was a feeling he'd always tried to contain when around the couple, or at least since they found themselves living together in the Englishman's home. Sometimes Francis wondered why Alfred hadn't whisked Arthur away to New York or Florida to have the baby. But then again he supposed Arthur still had the decency to remain behind just to help support Matthew. And maybe, just maybe, with the knowledge that Francis could very well be the father.

"C'mon," Francis blinked his thoughts away as the sound of America's voice grasped his attention, "Let's go and sit on the couch. Wanna see if there's a movie on TV we could watch?" Arthur hesitated momentarily. The baby was still kicking, not like it had before, but he was still enticed to just sit and feel each tiny movement.

"The couch sounds lovely. No TV though, m'kay?"

"Sure." Alfred wrapped his hand around Arthur's and helped him to stand. Then he turned to the rest seated at the dining table to address them, interrupting the quarrelling that seemed to be happening – as par usual it was Iain against everyone.

"Hey guys, me and Artie are gonna go and sit for a little while, okay?" Without even looking Iain waved them off. He was apparently too involved with bickering with his brother to really care.

"Whatever makes yer day; I don't care."

Granted their leave the couple left the table; Alfred had an arm wrapped possessively around his lover's waist, trying not to smile as Arthur waddled like a duck beside him. Francis continued to watch them until they were out of sight. Then he stood and, without a word to anyone else, collected the dishes and took them out to the kitchen where he proceeded to fill the sink with hot water in order to clean them, for he had to intentions on returning to the dining room for the rest of the argument, and he sure as hell didn't want to be the awkward third-wheel in the living room.

Francis couldn't stand it. The fluffy-sweetness of Alfred sickened him. It actually looked fake, like Alfred was trying too hard to love Arthur. Francis had never known Alfred to be so touchy-feely in a public situation. The odd kiss and hand-hold hadn't been uncommon to see during the meetings but now intimacy had been thrown in. Everything was far more serious now… serious and suspicious.

"Papa?" Francis blinked, the tiny voice from the door momentarily disrupting his thoughts. It was then the Frenchman realised that the flesh on his arms from the elbow down were a deep angry pink from being submerged in the hot water. He grumbled softly, snatching a tea-towel from the side to wipe the suds off, and turned to face Matthew at the door.

"Aah… _oui, petit_? Can I 'elp you with something?" The sour look that he'd just now adopted melted into a sweet façade. The young nation took a small step closer. Benjamin was curled up against his chest, bright violet eyes shut and a thumb between his pale pink lips which he was suckling quietly in place of a pacifier.

Matthew inched a little closer, at least enough so he could push the door to for a bit more privacy. Then he turned to the elder blonde. Francis could read the worry in his eyes like words off a book; it was the same look Matthew always seemed to have had when he felt a particular way.

"Papa, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," The Frenchman answered quickly, turning back to the sink, "Did you want something, _Mathieu_? If not, then please leave me to clean the kitchen."

"I'm not stupid, Papa. You're hiding something that's clearly upsetting you." Matthew advanced another couple steps. Francis remained silent. "You've always told me that it's never good to bottle things up…"

"I also taught you never to stick your nose in where it doesn't belong. Now off with you!"

Matthew had to make his way over to take a seat at the kitchen table, for he was in need of a quick rest. Eating always made him feel somewhat heavier and sadly pregnancy did not make the feeling any easier. He cradled Benjamin close and looked to his father in protest.

"But I'm not. Papa, I'm concerned for you." Matthew paused to see if the man would retort with yet another excuse, but alas he had none. So Matthew pressed on. "During dinner you were very quiet. And I noticed that you kept looking to Arthur at your side." At the mention of Arthur Francis set down the plate that he had started to wash and at once Matthew knew he found the root of the problem.

The Canadian was by now aware that Arthur's baby could be by either of two men that meant a lot to him. And in a way he wasn't surprised. Not terribly impressed that Arthur had gone and slept with two men at once, but he wasn't the kind of person to judge. Especially when he decided the dirty deed had been done under the influence. Then he had to consider his own circumstance.

Francis wasn't afraid to admit that he didn't like seeing Alfred playing the daddy card like it was all one big game. After all it had been Francis who'd been taking care of Arthur for those agonising few weeks whilst he'd been away, had it not? He'd been the one who ran his baths and cooked his meals, and kept a watchful eye over him until sleep finally took over. He'd been Arthur's source of comfort. Maybe it was because Arthur still saw Francis as a potential lover or perhaps it was for the reason that Arthur wanted the other possible father to be close, should the worse-case scenario happen.

Francis was hopeful for that. He wanted to be a father again, and if not with Arthur then nobody. Francis never wished heartbreak or the separation of two lovers; it was something he had already experienced a handful of times with before.

Then again he also didn't want Arthur to be left in the dark. Alfred would most likely only come and visit when it best suited him. And when he did come and see the child and Briton, how much of a father would he be?

Francis was brought back when Matthew appeared at his side, fingers lightly touching the older blonde's arm as to get his attention.

"Papa, why don't you sit down with Benjamin? I'll do the dishes."

"Really _Mathieu_, I don't need to. You should be the one resting-"

"I'm fine. I don't want to be a layabout. I never was when I was expecting Benjamin," He passed the dozing infant into Francis' arms, carefully, "And I don't intend to make it any different this time round." Francis' hold on his grandson tightened slightly until he was hugging the child close, enough to rouse and make the youngster moan softly with complaint. Benjamin weakly struggled back until he achieved a more comfortable position. Then the thumb went back into his mouth, the other hand gripping the Frenchman's shirt tightly for support, and once again his violet eyes closed.

Francis ambled over to where Matthew had been moments ago and took a seat in the same chair; it was most convenient, as it was closest and already pulled out from under the table. Only when Francis relaxed with his body sagging against the backrest did he realise how exhausted he really was. For days – no weeks – the poor man had been working almost single-handedly to keep the household fed well on nutritious food and dressed in nice clean clothes. The constant cooking had meant he hadn't been able to spend much time with neither his grandson nor Matthew. The lonesome Arthur was the only one who managed to get the seldom attention that he was depraved of, which really should've come from his supposed boyfriend.

"He loves you. B-Benjamin, I mean. But Papa, you never spend any time with him."

"I can't 'elp it, _petit_," Francis sighed, fingers playing with the short wavy white-blonde locks of the baby, "We all need to eat some'ow. If Gilbert 'ad 'is way we'd be eating sausage every day."

"I wouldn't mind that." Matthew said setting a soapy plate on the draining board. "But I'm sure Gil wouldn't make us eat wurst every night. He can cook other things as well."

Francis chuckled, softly though as he didn't want to upset the baby. A comfortable silence followed between the two grown-ups. There was just the clatter of plates and crockery as Matthew continued to wash, dry and put the dishes away. Then when he finally finished he came over and sat himself opposite to Francis.

_"Papa? Can I talk to you about something?"_ Francis was surprised when Matthew spoke to him entirely in French just now. Actually, the older nation couldn't recall the last time he'd done so without throwing in a word of English. It did make him wonder why he decided to start again now though.

_"You know you can always talk to me, Matthieu. Now then, what's worrying you?"_ Matthew looked sharply to the kitchen door. Francis noted the look of worry on the boy's face but he said nothing. Only waited for an answer.

_"It's just… Papa, I've been thinking about my relationship with Iain."_

_"Oh?"_ The expression Matthew wore seemed to worsen. Deep creases formed across his brow, as if he was fighting the internal battle of whether or not he should just ditch the talk now.

_"I… Papa, I'm not sure what to do. Iain's a really nice guy. Well, most of the time."_

_"He's not hurting you, is he?"_

_"No! No. But I think he's jealous of Gilbert. And after earlier, after seeing what he can do… I'm worried. Earlier Gilbert and I talked some. We've come to an agreement where he can take Benjamin for one weekend a month-"_

_"-Sounds reasonable."_

_"Yes. Though I'm scared that Iain won't let him. He's a little rough… but he hasn't hurt me. I'm just scared that after a while he might. I've got this feeling in the pit of my stomach…"_

Francis caught the timid shimmer in Matthew's quivering violet eyes. The look of fear was written all over his face, he couldn't deny it. Francis knew very well that Matthew wasn't the kind of person who liked to use that body strength of his; unlike Alfred he was very good at controlling it until it was almost at a point where he seemed to forget such power and abandoned it. There were times when Francis wished the boy would just use it to defend himself for once.

_"I don't know what to do. You've been in a lot of relationships, haven't you Papa? Can't you tell me?"_

_"It's not quite as simple as that, my dear. Relationships differ from person to person. For example; I can't seem to settle with one person. Meanwhile, you settled down and intended to have a child with your first love. Matthieu. I'm not going offer you advice on how to handle a rocky relationship when I don't have any experience that I could quite relate to. Do you want to stay with Iain?"_

_"N-no not really."_

_"Then it's up to you. Just tell him straight-up that you want to break up. He'll understand. And I promise nothing bad will come out of it. Understand?"_

Matthew nodded. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. Francis sighed.

"Oh _Mathieu_. Please don't get upset. If breaking up with Iain is what you really want then I'll support you all the way, understand? Come now, wipe those tears… good boy," Francis watched Matthew wipe the forming tears away with the back of a hand with a soft sniffle. Honestly, the man thought with a fond gaze, he's never going to change.

When Matthew's tears finally dried his mouth had turned into a wobbly smile that stood out against his flushed pink cheeks. Francis got up from his chair with a smile of his own, one that was warm and comforting to Matthew. He helped the boy up and passed Benjamin back.

"Why don't you go upstairs and get yourself bathed and changed into some fresh pyjamas. I'm going to see if I can somehow convince Iain to change his mind about moving to Arthur's inner-city home. Then I think I should phone Spain regarding the upcoming meeting."

"O-okay, Papa. I love you."

"_Je t'aime aussi._ Now go on." The two went their separate ways, Matthew waddling off at his own pace and Francis briefly tidying the kitchen and dining room before he set out to find the others.

* * *

**Author's Note:** ...And cut-off right there! There was actually a lot more to this chapter, but if I kept going then the whole thing probably would've extended to +12,000 words total. So this is part 1 of two. In the next... Iain will be getting the boot. Maybe.

And maybe I can learn to write shorter freakin' chapters =_=


	23. The Break-up (part 2)

**Chapter 22:**** The Break-up (part 2)**

**Date: ****16th August, 2013 (August, part 4)**

Dis one has some slightly coarser language in parts and implied lemon ('cuz I'm too lazy and not good enough to write an actual lemon)

* * *

Later on that evening the family settled down in the living room. Unfortunately Francis hadn't been able to convince Iain to have a shift in agreement. The Scotsman's decision to stay in the countryside was firm; Francis couldn't understand why he was so adamant to leave.

But nobody complained about it. Matthew was content enough too although he'd already expressed his wish to be closer to medical help for Arthur's comment earlier had worried him, though only for him to be ignored too.

Iain had him secured under one heavy arm on the settee that they shared. That of course didn't stop the Canadian from exchanging small playful looks with Gilbert whom was lying on his stomach on the shag rug. Iain was none the wiser of his boyfriend's flirtatious glances. That, or he rather found that he chose to ignore the defiance of loyalty to his boyfriend.

So when the movie they were watching ended Iain was the first to jump up from his seat as soon as the credits rolled.

"I'm off." He announced with a grunt.

"Where to?" He heard Dylan call after him. The Welshman sprang up to follow him out to the foyer. "Oi, I said where ya off to?"

"Ta thee pub. Na beer or spirits in thee house. I'm gonna get some."

"Bit late though, ain't it?" Dylan watched helplessly as his brother began to pull his boots and coat on. The Scotsman opened the front door and stepped through.

"What, I'm not entitled in havin' a bit booze now? Ugh. I shan't be long. Will only have a couple. Don't wait up." And he was gone.

Matthew looked up as Dylan walked back into the living room. He sat up with both hands moving to support the weight of his stomach.

"W-where did Iain say he was going?"

"Ah… don't worry about it, lad. He's just off to get a bit of drink is all. He'll be back soon."

"He better not come back pissed." Arthur sniffed, snuggling closer to his own boyfriend whom promptly invited the subtle loving affections with a nuzzle. "If he does then he's sleeping outside tonight. I don't care how cold or wet it is!"

"Don't worry, Artie. I'll sort him out." Dylan reassured, suddenly scooping up Kumajiro as the cub clambered onto the arm of the couch.

"Thank you… but... I'm knackered. I think I'll be going off to bed now. Alfred?"

"Yeah, same here. I haven't had a wink of sleep all day."

"I think we should all get some sleep now. Come along _Mathieu_. Bed time." Francis stood up from his place on the floor and moved to the couch.

Matthew glanced over at the elder man with a pouty lip. He hated it when he was spoken to like a mere infant, though it wasn't like he didn't enjoy the attention it got him. "P-papa, I'm not a child…"

"I know. But it is very late and both you and Arthur need plenty of rest. These last months are crucial for the development of the babies."

"Francis, don't push him." Arthur grunted quietly, falling back against Alfred's side when his knees suddenly buckled.

"Whoa there." Alfred stooped to catch him under his arms.

"I'm fine. I told you, I'm just a bit tired. I'll be alright in the morning."

Francis smiled and turned back to the stubborn Canadian once the other two were gone. Dylan had wandered into the kitchen to pander to Kumajiro's need of food, leaving them all alone with Gilbert.

Matthew's eyes were heavy. He didn't seem to notice that his glasses were sliding off the end of his nose.

"Come on. Be a good boy for Papa, _Mathieu_. You'll regret it if you fall asleep on the couch."

"No, Papa…"

"_Oui_. Now stop being silly and get yourself up to bed." The tone of his voice had changed from that of a warm and affectionate parent to that of one whom was firm but clearly concerned for the young nation's wellbeing. Matthew looked up at the Frenchman. He wasn't use to being scolded.

"Hey I'll take him upstairs." Both Francis and the sleepy Matthew looked over to see Gilbert approach. "You take care of turning off for the night _und_ I'll see that Mattie gets to bed."

Francis was a little sceptical to begin with. Gilbert had been spending quite a bit of time with Matthew recently. Oh… but why shouldn't he? With a roll of his shoulders Francis quickly decided that there couldn't possibly be anything wrong with that.

"...Alright, Gilbert. You do that. I'll be up in 'alf an 'our after a bit of wine. And please be careful about your injury, _mon amis_."

"_Ja, ja_, don't worry about it." The white-haired ex-nation smiled, winking at the blonde boy on the couch before scooping him up into his arms. Francis did not miss that. But still he said nothing and went about his business just as they did with theirs.

Gilbert staggered upstairs with Matthew. It was a bit of a mission but took no less than a couple of minutes. He took Matthew straight to his room, placing him gently down on the bed and carefully closed the door once they got inside, flicking the bolt across to keep unwanted family out.

"So cutie," Gilbert rolled onto the bed. "Wanna screw around before dipshit comes home?" Before Matthew would've jumped at the chance for a good fuck just to take his mind off the trials of pregnancy. However tonight he wasn't in the mood.

"Not now, Gil. Mmf… my back's starting to hurt and I'm tired." Gilbert was disappointed but he snuggled close anyways, wrapping his slender arms around Matthew's swollen waist.

"So now you're tired. Damn. I was hoping for a bit of action."

"Do we have to?"

"C'mon, just a quickie before Francis or Iain see ~" Matthew sighed and looked away, a blush tinting his cheeks. "I promise it'll make you feel better…_ und_ me too. We're both guys. It's a need we can't ignore."

"…So you're basically saying that you're just sick of using your hand in lonely solo acts-" Matthew suddenly squealed in his usual soft way as the older man was suddenly straddling his legs with one hand pushing back the pregnant boy's shirt so that the other could rub the swollen belly, fingertips drifting slow, gentle circles over the taut skin. And to make the boy melt, Gilbert leaned forward over the bump and hungrily devoured the other's mouth in a passionate kiss, licking and nipping his lips.

Matthew gasped a moan and tried to wriggle out from beneath him. He only succeeded in breaking the kiss for a moment before Gilbert shuffled forward to again meet him. Matthew leaned forward where this time he leaned forward, arms hooking the white-haired individual's shoulders as to invite him closer. Their noses touched for a split second before Gilbert bent in for another kiss to compensate for the first being cut so short.

Trying not to think too hard, Matthew managed to smile at Gilbert once again as they at last pulled away, hesitant to be separated from each other's heat for even the shortest time. Matthew's eyes blinked slowly and he allowed himself to drink in the sight of the former nation who in turn simply smiled subtly when he realised that he was to be granted full access to the boy whom Iain had physically neglected.

Gilbert laid the boy back down against the mattress with a pillow pulled beneath to protect his head. He would be gentle. He would be considerate. And he would seal the deal to make Matthew cut his ties with the selfish old Scot who just wasn't right.

Matthew looked up at him with a warm trusting gaze. Gilbert took full advantage over the boy's vulnerability as he laid patiently beneath in wait. The corners of Prussia's mouth curled up, making the grin now look positively devious. Matthew's face was flushed a beautiful pink and his expression contorted into that of one that challenged the tightness of the German's pants.

"You're surprisingly wanton for someone who's been guarded so closely by a big bad Scottish bastard." Gilbert's voice didn't come out how he'd have liked it; husky, yet with a hidden suggestiveness that made Matthew's heart melt.

"I-I can't help myself, y'know," Matthew replied, quickly turning his gaze away, blush deepening from pink to red in seconds. "You're not the only one who's had to keep himself amused by certain means."

"Aw, that old duff not big enough for you? Greedy boy ~"

"Oh, that's n-not it and you know it!" Matthew scolded the older man by weakly slapping his shoulder, though in a more playful manner than angry. "H-he just never wants to have sex…. I just thought that maybe he's not comfortable with it."

"Big deal. If he's too much of a pussy to get any then who the fuck am I to complain?" Gilbert howled with laughter as he made the snide remark. Matthew hit him again. As well as fearing that they'd be caught by someone he also didn't appreciate the man's tone of voice.

"You don't have to be so mean about it. I always thought Iain wasn't the kind of person who didn't really like guys like this…" Gilbert could feel his libido begin to slip as he noticed the saddened look in Matthew's fallen violet eyes. So before either could truly be put off Gilbert bent down, tugging the other's glasses off in a quick two-fingered motion before setting them on the bedside table. Matthew found himself nearly cross-eyed as he struggled to properly focus on the other's face though the Cheshire cat grin was not hard to miss. Cheeky red eyes, though blurred, glistened brightly and Matthew smiled.

The German lowered himself close to the boy's head. Then, without warning he ran his tongue up the side of Matthew's pale neck earning a delicious shiver. "Forget about him. For now you've got me to worry about remember ~?" He made no further comments, hoping to get off the discussion of Iain entirely, as it'd likely only bring him down, and proceeded to unbutton his pyjama top. He flung it aside, much to Matthew's delight, and crawled back over to lie beside him. Matthew sighed as he felt the other wordlessly pull his shirt back over his head. However, once the front of the shirt was covering his face Gilbert left the boy now completely without sight.

"Heh. You still as kinky as I remember?" Purred the smooth German. He discarded his own top and moved, flat pale stomach barely brushing the bump as Gilbert rocked himself back and forth on his hands and feet, backside in the air to avoid crushing the other whilst his teeth nipped at the Canadian's exposed throat and collarbone.

Matthew giggled in a way that seemed to be stuck between sounding both excited and a little bit nervous about what was to come.

* * *

**Date: ****17th August, 2013**

* * *

Francis stood looking forlornly down at the dope draped over the kitchen, arms hanging loose and heavy at his sides. His lips were pressed tightly into a sour frown and his bright blue eyes, still heavy with sleep and in need of the morning caffeine ration to keep them open, were narrowed.

Francis wouldn't have heard Iain shouting from outside the house if it weren't for the fact that he'd fallen asleep downstairs in the armchair after wine. Heavens knew how many drinks he'd had the pub but it certainly wasn't any less than a few good pints of the strong stuff. And God forbid how he'd manage to drive home in the dark without veering off the road or into any oncoming traffic during his drunken stupor. The country lanes were both very narrow and very dangerous.

Iain had been too violent to handle and too drunk to listen to reasoning. In vain, Francis decided to try and sober him up with bread and tea. One shattered glass tea-jar and a cut foot later the idea was abandoned – as was Iain. He didn't want the man smelling of beer and brimming with violent attitude when popping off to join Matthew in bed and Dylan had set up his usual place on the couch since before meaning there wasn't much else he could go in the meanwhile.

So, less than four hours later the kitchen had been transformed into a bombsite. Pots and pans had been knocked from their places littering the floor. Cupboards had been opened and the hinges of one up on the wall looked bent crudely out of shape, as if Iain had tried swinging on the cupboard door itself.

Amongst the pans were several pieces of cutlery and hundreds of little sharp shards of glass and china that glistened in the early morning sun as it leaked in through the kitchen window. That was all that was left of the glasses and teacups that had been left to dry on the draining board from the previous day. The empty wine bottle Francis had left on the side to later be put in the recycling bag was also now scattered across the floor, its jade-green glass pretty and easy to see amongst the rest, like a thousand tiny emeralds.

Another thing that caught Francis' eye was the dark bloody smear that stretched from one end of the kitchen next to where most of the wine bottle lay to the kitchen table. More of it marked a trail which Francis could follow with his tired eyes: from the bottle remnants it moved across to the sink and window, then to the fridge, and then finally to where the Scotsman was sitting at. The blood looked old and dry and appeared to have originated from Iain's feet. Both looked heavily cut from the glass. Francis cringed when he noticed the amount of blood that had settled on his skin like a patchy red crust. He dreaded to think about how much glass was still imbedded in the soles and toes, if any.

Iain was laying with his head on the table top. An arm covered his face from view with the exception of one eye, however his flimsy red fringe hung over it like a veil so it wasn't possible for the Frenchman to tell if he was awake or not.

"_Mon Dieu…"_ Francis said with a sigh, needing not to tread carefully for his rubber-soled slippers protected his feet from the shards as he made his way over to the larder for the dustpan and brush. "What a mess."

Just when he began to sweep the mess up with the pan and brush there was a sudden coughing fit coming from Iain, one that rattled the air and made the Frenchman jump.

"Oi… th't be ye, Francis…?" Came a hoarse voice.

"Oh. You're still alive?"

"Shuttup an' make yerself useful. Ge' me a dr'nk." Iain's pronunciation came out slurred and thick with accent making it somewhat difficult for the other to understand. However, after a second of piecing together what he had understood and patching up the rest with common sense, he immediately went through the cupboards for a glass that was still intact and for a box of seltzer tablets to ease the hangover. He dropped a couple of tablets in the liquid before putting the glass in Iain's reach on the table before dropping back down onto his knees to carefully clear away every last glass fragment.

"Until I've had a look a better look at your feet, I don't want you standing up. You've made a real mess of them." Francis told him a little while later once he emptied the second dustpan of glass into the bin. Iain was groaning softly as he rubbed his head, waiting impatiently for the seltzer to kick in.

"I'm fine. Don't go worrying about me."

"I'm not. I just don't want Arthur to be upset about you leaving stains on the carpet. Blood is such a pain to get out, you know." Iain snorted and drained his glass of water. He was half-tempted to throw the glass with the rest on the floor for he was rather foul of mood and had no patience for the usual playful bitchy banter that might sometimes occur.

The sound of someone coming down the staircase out in the hall didn't even spur much attention from the two in the kitchen. The stairs creaked softly barely hiding two voices; one sounding nervous and whom didn't seem to want to be heard, whilst the other had no disregard and cackled loudly. Francis at once recognised the distinct laughter of his German friend. He continued to work diligently until the voices grew louder (one more so than the other) and one familiar face appeared in the doorway to then Francis looked up with a smile though he suddenly then extended an arm as a gesture to stop the newcomer from stepping any further.

"Careful, _petit_. Don't come in 'ere without your slippers. There's glass all over the floor." Gilbert appeared at his Matthew's side, poking his head around the door before the rest of his body followed through. Benjamin was cradled in his arms. The baby gurgled through small sucks of his pacifier with lidded violet eyes. Any moment now he looked as though he was about to drop back off to sleep. Noticing the infant's sleepy look, Matthew smiled. He stretched out a hand and gently brushed a finger over the child's pale cheek. Almost at once Benjamin's eyes opened again from their brief rest to gaze idly at his parent with a protesting whine.

Iain looked over at them, acidic eyes glowered an angry, jealous green at the sight of seeing Matthew so close to the albino wretch. His grip tightened around the empty glass he held, threatening to shatter from the growing pressure, however he released it before he could cause another mess.

"What do ye think yer doin'?" Iain growled, voice still very hoarse but not quite as slurred. He sat up against his chair to get a proper look. Francis warily looked up from his work of sweeping the glass, bunching up the muscles in his legs and shifting to sit tensed on his feet in preparation to spring forward if Iain decided to be troublesome.

T  
he night before, after making love and taking a late night shower together, Matthew and Gilbert had lain in bed to talk and snuggle. It had been just like it had. The couple had failed to remember that Benjamin's cot was only in the corner of the bedroom. However, being a surprisingly heavy sleeper had meant that the child went undisturbed until he awoke to be fed.

Their talk consisted of two things; the revisited idea of breaking up with Iain and how the break-up would be executed. Gilbert had promised to stick beside him no matter what. That was something that Matthew both appreciated and was made more confident by.

Matthew drew in a long, deep breath. "I-Iain, w-we… we really need t-to talk."

"'Bout what?"

"I just… I just don't want to say this here." And he looked to Francis. Immediately the Frenchman pretended not to have noticed and stooped closer to the ground.

"Ye an' ye… fuck off an' leave us fer a minute." Iain said to Gilbert and Francis. Gilbert and Matthew exchanged looks.

"Gil…"

"I said I'd stick by you. I'm not going to leave you alone with him." Gilbert murmured back, a serious expression possessing his features. "If he even touches you, I swear to God…"

"Oi! Are ye two deaf? Get out. Me an' thee lad are havin' a word." Francis seemed to understand Matthew's uneasiness, and sent the Canadian a quiet encouraging look, urging him to do what he thought was best. Then he set the dustpan on the counter and out he went, slipping by the couple. Gilbert, on the other hand, was anchored on the spot. He wasn't about to willingly follow his friend out into the hallway just because he'd been told to.

The downright stubbornness of the German's actions only aggravated the hung-over Scotsman, whom would've gotten up to approach if it weren't for the pain in his feet.

"Get. Out. Beilshit."

"G-Gil, it's okay. I can do it on my own. Take Ben into the living room with Papa. I'll be out in a minute." Gilbert looked to his son then to the young nation. He spoke in a hushed, gruff tone.

"Are you sure? I'll stay if you want. I'm not going to let him push me away."

"Yes. Just go."

"…Fine. If you say so. Don't let him hurt you, okay?" Matthew nodded. Gilbert resignedly disappeared with their son, though not before pressing his lips to the other's cheek when Iain decided to momentarily avert his gaze to his bloodied glass-riddled feet with an unfocused gaze.

Matthew rubbed the kiss with a small smile. But the smile faded when Matthew lifted his gaze to meet Iain's not-so-subtle glare.

"Well?" He demanded, "What's so important?"

Matthew made his way over to the table, cautious of any glass splinters still lying around, and sat himself on the chair closest to his soon-to-be ex. Spurred on by the promised love and loyalty by Gilbert, Matthew felt brave. He was compelled to not disappoint the German who'd been so kind to him lately. Actually, come to think of, there was barely a time when Gilbert hadn't given it his all to ensure the lovely Matthew's comfort. Matthew did have to admit though; Iain had been nice. Considerate but firm, yet never nasty or threatening – at least not to him or baby Ben.

Yet... Iain was so cold. Romantic intimacy was absolutely minimal; the closest Matthew usually got to a hug was an arm around the shoulder during the evenings or accidently around the waist when they woke up in the mornings. To Matthew though this only served to remind him who he 'belonged' to. Being with him wasn't the same as it had been with Gilbert. Not by a long shot.

"Iain, there's something I've wanted to talk to you about, eh. A-and… well, I think it would be better to simply cut to the chase." Iain slowly lifted his head with a grimace. His eyes were drawn immediately to Matthew's face with studious observation; the pitying lavender gaze along with a shallow smile looked right back at him. Strands of sandy blonde fell over Matthew's eyes to which Matthew suddenly reached up to brush back behind his ears. Then, wetting his lips with a quick lick, Matthew said, "Iain I think we need to break up."

Iain must've thought that he'd misheard the lad, for his face contorted with puzzlement and he inched a bit forward on his seat.

"Ye what?"

"I think we need to break up," Matthew repeated, a little louder this time, gaze becoming unsettled. "I just don't feel as though there's really anything between us."

"…How long have ye felt this way?"

"Not long," Matthew admitted, "But I haven't felt that 'spark'… I just feel like we don't really belong together. Iain?" The Scotsman was staring quietly down at the red-smeared floor with an unreadable expression. "Iain, are you alright?"

"Aye… just wasn't expectin' this." He replied quietly. He suddenly reached into the front pocket of his jacket where he produced a packet of cigarettes and a lighter.

"Iain! Don't do that here!" Iain was in the process of putting one of the tobacco sticks between his lips when the Canadian decided to scold him. So he huffily dropped the lot on the tableside instead.

In Iain's mind he had thought that he would be the one dumping Matthew. Not straight after the baby, he decided, but once Matthew was happy and comfortably settled with both children after a few weeks then that's when he'd planned to pull the plug. The boy had beaten him to it, it seemed. And it made Iain feel embarrassed; hurt, even.

His acidic green eyes levelled to meet the soft lavender of Matthew's before darting to the side for the cigarette packet.

"Beilshit told ye ter say this, didn't he? Ye been hangin' around him fer too long."

"N-no! No he didn't! It was my idea. Listen to me Iain! I don't want to break up with you just because we're not right for each other. You're mean to everyone… especially to Gilbert. A-and you treat France like dirt when he's so good. I know you don't mean them no harm really… but…" Matthew simply shook his head. "I'm sorry. I want the best for Ben and my daughter. And the best I can do for them is to have a father-figure around who won't be a cold stiff."

Iain rolled his bottom lip beneath his teeth, grinding at the delicate pink flesh with a canine tooth. He didn't like what he was hearing. In fact, he almost felt inclined to retaliate. This wasn't right.

"It's not right for me to be keeping you here, amongst people you don't like. So, don't you think this is for the best?"

Somewhere in the background the telephone rang and footsteps creaked on the floorboards above along with the soft murmur of voices.

"I don't believe this. Ye slept with him, ain't ye? Behind my back! Lemme guess; he gives ye a bit of cock an' then yer opinion of me changes? Is that right?" The harsh accusations. The bitter tone. The spiteful glare that bored its way through and through made poor Matthew uncomfortable and rather afraid.

To stop himself from fidgeting Matthew looked down, hands linked atop of his brown stomach. His eyes that once bright with confidence now instead glistened with tears. It was as if dozens of shiny little stones were dotted around his irises. "N-n-n-no… no, that's not…"

"Fuckin' liar!" At once Iain lunged for the boy, trying forward. An angry cry escaped his throat. Then he fell back into his chair. The glass had been forced deeper into the sole of his foot, messily cutting away at the flesh and opening fresh wounds for the blood to flow. Crippled by this pain it gave Matthew the chance to leap up, the sudden force of his actions knocking the chair he'd been sitting on to the ground with a loud crash. Then he lost control and the first tears fell.

"I-I'm br-breaking up with you!" He cried through the tears. Iain watched helplessly as the boy backed away for the door. Matthew was facing him the whole time. The terror and hurt that could simply be seen from his face made Iain's stomach knot. He felt… wretched. Disgraceful for what he'd just said. What had he said? Oh… he couldn't remember. Was he so rash? The anger vanished and just for once Iain looked just a bit more human.  
"Pett…"

Shortly from the moment when the chair hit the ground Gilbert could be heard shouting for Matthew. It was he who turned up, forcing open the kitchen door with Francis seconds behind.

"Hey! What's going on – Mattie? Mattie…" Matthew turned towards the voice of the albino. His eyes were tightly closed and great fat tears cascaded down his reddening cheeks and dribbling off the end of his chin and nose. Francis approached Matthew, wrapping one strong arm around his middle and the other across his upper back. Then, nestling his chin in the boy's silky blonde hair pulled him close. However the low scolding tone of his voice completely contradicted the initial tender-sweet actions, "'Ush now, silly boy."

"I didn't do anything to him." Iain said. After briefly checking for any obvious injury on his sweet little Matthew, Gilbert turned towards the culprit of this 'crime'.

"Shut the hell up, you bastard." He answers sharply, swiftly, as if he's disgusted by talking to the Scotsman.

"Don't antagonise 'im Gilbert," Said Francis. He sounded rather calm though on the inside he was rather upset with the ill-tempered red-head. Bending his head so that his lips met Matthew's ears he began to whisper gently to his child, "Do you want Gilbert to take you into the living room? I don't want staying out 'ere whilst you're upset like this. Come on." Matthew heard this and leaned back momentarily to wipe the snot from his nose with the back of his hand. It sounded like a reasonable idea so nodded against the elder nation's chest with a sniffle.

"Good boy. Gilbert, _mon amis_; take _Mathieu_ to watch some television with Benjamin. I need to clean the rest of this glass and then breakfast needs to be made." Through the haze of tears Matthew allowed himself to be passed into Gilbert's care where he was then promptly led away from the kitchen.

Iain watched without a word as they left, hardly noticing the disgusted look given to him by the Frenchman as he passed to resume clearing the shards of glass that still littered the tiled floor.

"Oi, what about me?"

"What about you?" Iain gestured to his bloodied feet, even making an attempt to tug out a piece of the glass imbedded in the torn skin.

Right then Arthur's ginger and white cat trotted on in, head and tail held high. The old tom paused momentarily only to snub Iain before it moved forward and made a successful bound up onto the counter top.

"Stupid cat." Iain muttered, feeling a strong impulse to simply bend down to clout it, just something to vent out his anger on. The cat look across the kitchen expectantly until Francis finally fished a tin-opener from the draws and a can from the larder.

"Your feet will 'ave to wait. I won't be able to get all of the glass out myself so I'll see if the doctor can come round. 'E can give _Mathieu_ and _Angleterre_ a look-over as well whilst 'e's 'ere." Francis emptied the tin of food for the cat before disposing of the glass. "There. Now breakfast."

* * *

"You did it." Gilbert praised once they were sitting comfortably in the living room away from harm's way, and for the time being Dylan was nowhere to be seen. He pressed a kiss to the blonde's throat, smirking into the touch as Matthew sighed appreciatively. "And an awesome job as well, no doubt."

"He… I think he was really going to hurt me."

"I told you that if he even laid a finger on you that I'd do something about it, didn't I? I would've beaten him to death if he even thought about hurting you. There was no reason to be scared. Not when you've got me _und_ Francis looking out for you. Not to mention Alfred and Artie, plus Dylan. We all care." They were settled on the couch, Matthew laying down against Gilbert's chest, their fingers linked and resting lightly on Matthew's belly. With his other hand Gilbert began to tease the blonde's long sandy locks with satisfied smile.

Benjamin and Kumajiro were on the floor watching the TV. The infant clutched possessively on the cub's milky white fur, hugging the furry body tightly in both arms. Kuma simply sat still. To be honest he didn't care how rough the child was; quite often Matthew would forget his own strength leading to a rough time. So in all truth he was quite use to it.

"They get along so well…" Matthew mused when the noticed the child and bear together. "Kumakimi's so patient with Ben. D'you think he'll be okay with a second baby?"

"Yeah, 'course! He'll be fine."

"You sure…? Gil, she'll be so much tinier than Ben is now. I don't want him to hurt her even if it is by accident."

"Hey, don't worry about it. Sure a bear isn't exactly everyone's first choice of a pet to have in a household with kids. But nothing's gonna  
happen, understand? I won't allow it."

* * *

"There's a meeting in London on Monday." Arthur announced around the breakfast table a little while later. "My Boss was on the phone earlier. He said that since we – as in Matthew and I – are in no fit state to travel too far by plane, all meetings over the next three months will be held in London. It's all been set up. All we have to do is turn up."

"And if we don't?" America inquired looking up from his cereal.

"He mentioned that too. He said that for each time one of us – Prussia, Wales and Scotland excluded – misses a meeting from this point on, our Bosses won't pay us. Now I don't know about any of you but I'm struggling as it is. At some point I'll probably have to sell every property I have for a dirt-cheap price in favour for a couple of apartment rooms or maybe a flat."

"An' I thought tha ol' Olympics ended tha recession." Dylan muttered, helping himself to his third piece of toast.

"Bullshit. We're suffering now just as bad as ever." Grunted the Scotsman who was still rather sore of foot and of mind.

"There's no need for that kind of language Iain. It's not like you've got much to worry about seeing as you work for a living aside from the small 'on-the-side' the Government gives you." Francis said. He looked to Matthew, whom he was sat next to on the end of the table, but the boy wasn't paying any attention. Benjamin was sat up in his high chair, picking up bits of soft fruit and cereal from the tray and popping them into his mouth. Every few mouthfuls he giggled gleefully with a beaming smile and would reach for his sippy cup that Matthew kept on the table to prevent any possible spills or incidents.

"Although I am thankful that the next few meetings will be easier to get to, I can't help but feel as though you and Mathieu should stay at 'ome." Francis told Arthur in an almost decisive tone. Arthur was having none of that.

"What, because we're due soon? I still have at least three months, Matthew two! One outing once in a moon isn't going to do any harm!"

"_Oui_, that may be true but we don't want either of you to strain yourselves unnecessarily. Perhaps if Gilbert and Scotland went in your places-"

"Absolutely not!"

"Don't be unreasonable."

"Papa, I don't want to be stuck here all of the time. Please let us try for the first couple of meetings. Then if it gets too much, we'll stay behind. Promise."

Francis gazed fondly at the boy, the warmth of his smile made the Frenchman's own soften, the strict parental feeling melting to reveal a loving understanding look.

"What about you,_ Angleterre_? Will you do the same?"

"… I suppose that's reasonable enough," Then he turned to Alfred with a serious look. "If I don't want to stay here then you'll respect my decision, won't you?"

"Yeah, of course! The hero always does what's best for his people!"

With nothing more to say on the subject they fell quiet for the time being. Iain kept his eyes down refusing to even acknowledge Matthew across the table, even when the Canadian tried to offer him a sorry smile. Arthur chose not to get involved and so encouraged Alfred and Dylan to do the same; they'd heard the crying and the raised voices. Sticking their noses in where they didn't belong wouldn't do anyone any good. And… if it meant fouling the Scotsman's mood further, it certainly wasn't worth the risk.

* * *

After breakfast the usual chores were completed around the house. The doctor was called and so he came over to properly deal with Iain's foot. Gilbert's head injury was also tended to, as were the two expecting nations of the family. Thompson simply tsked and sent Iain a severe look, for he could do that and wouldn't be intimidated. He cleaned the wounds of glass and blood before cleanly stitching the back up with the demand of letting the wounds have time to recover.

"You bloody nations and your shenanigans," He scolded half-heartedly when he'd finished and Francis offered him some tea and cake in the kitchen. "I've never been so busy tending to you lot since before England decided to get knocked up."

"Well," Francis said, smiling thinly at him, "There'll be more of us in London on Monday with the meeting."

"Yes… I heard. Nobody else is pregnant, I hope."

"Not that I know of. Come to think of it we've been rather cut-off since arriving. Haven't even spoke to Spain lately… and we haven't seen each other since his birthday."

"You're not condemned to live here, y'know. England's already got a father for his child and Canada's well taken care of."

"I know but I couldn't leave them." Francis fell quiet. The doc watched from where he sat at the kitchen table, at Francis whom was leaning forward over the worktop propped by his elbows, eyes glazed with distance.

"Because…?"

"I'm sure you know. Because Mathieu is 'aving my grandchild and there's a good chance that Arthur is carrying my baby. If something goes wrong I want to at least try and make a difference for them both."

Thompson held his mug to his lips, eyes half-lidded and thoughtful. "How very noble of you." He mused. "It sounds to me like you're keen to be a dad again."

Francis looked at the man with a smile. A small, sad smile.

"I never was much of a father to _Mathieu._ I spoilt him as a very young child, and then before 'e could even talk I 'ad to give 'im to _Angleterre_ to look after because I had been too impulsive. It was only when he got a bit older that I was allowed to see him again." Thompson pulled a small face as he realised that perhaps he shouldn't have stepped onto the subject, and he was eager to back out. "As lovely as it would be to be able to raise a child again, I 'ave to face the fact that it probably won't 'appen."

Hastily setting down his mug on the table and getting to his feet, the doctor reached for his coat on the chair next to him. "Ahem… well, I think I ought to scarper."

Francis snapped from his daydream. "Y-you're going?"

"Yes, I think so. I've seen everyone who needs it, and I do have other patients waiting for me to see them back at the surgery. Then I'm expected at the hospital. Thank you for your hospitality, mister France, but I really shouldn't dally – oh, and do have Canada and England come in to the hospital at some point for another scan. Good day sir."

Francis understood that he shouldn't keep the man from his duties, so nodding; he escorted the man to the front door. When Doctor Thompson was out of sight the Frenchman closed the door with a clenched jaw, quietly trying to ignore the longing feelings that were beginning to surface before wandering back down the hallway.

To him, the past year since Matthew's disappearance and recovery and Arthur's pregnancy all felt like one big game. A game with so many ups and downs, twists and turns… it felt like trifling game of snakes and ladders but with more obstacles and consequences where anything could go wrong. And no matter how hard Francis tried… no matter what strategy he attempted to try and subtly grasp Arthur's attention… he was just the old Froggy. The ex. The has-been. The one who would be denied of the responsibilities regardless of who the father would be, because Arthur was adamant that anyone other than Alfred would father it.

The man slunk back to his place in the kitchen where he the pots and pans began to rattle again in preparation for lunch.


	24. Monday's Conference

**A/N:** Of all chapters that were a pain in the arse to write, this one takes the cake! I had it almost finished three weeks ago only to realise that it was +8,000 words long and not really going anywhere... so I slowly began to cut it back down, replacing and rewriting bits and pieces until I only had +2,000 words... basically, with the exception of one or two bits, this whole chapter is completely different to the original - and somewhat shorter XD

But I think the story has been milling on for quite some time, twice as long as the one before... so I think I'll skip ahead a bit and try and finish in... three, maybe four more chapters? We'll see ~ ^^

* * *

**Chapter 23:**** Monday's Conference**

**Date: ****19th August (August, part 5)**

* * *

The following Monday the resident countries of Arthur's country manor arrived in London for the World Conference at precisely 10am. There were no excuses for anyone to miss it, perhaps unless a nation was feeling exceptionally unwell.

Matthew, despite being far from noticeable much of the time on any other occasion, was quite looking forward to socialising; how long had it been since he'd seen his good friend Cuba or even Netherlands?

Unfortunately Arthur's suffering of sores, swollen ankles and cramps seemed to be worsening thus fouling his already bad temper. He refused to seek advice from a specialist and he couldn't seem to accept Matthew's advice, apparently forgetting the boy was experiencing the same symptoms and had even dealt with them before. He was jealous that the boy took nearly everything in his stride without finding the need to openly complain.

Francis worried for both though. Give or take, Arthur only had another three months left, Matthew two. After they got home in the evening he'd call the doctor for some more advice, anything that benefit either although Gilbert knew exactly what to try. Whether it was applying a heat pad or running a cool bath or shower, it all seemed to work well enough. But ever since his little scuffle with Iain Gilbert preferred to keep well away from the fierce Scot.

However, Francis continued to fret over their conditions until he absolutely insisted that though Matthew and Arthur could come along he forbade them both from attending the actual meeting. Their bosses had only said that had to go to the conferences. They never said anything about actually going inside the conference rooms.

Over the few days since arriving, Dylan had proved to be of great help. He was no good at cooking (Francis wondered if that problem was genetic within the Kirklands) and his house-keeping skills needed work, but he soothed any quarrels before they became too much. He was good for watching over Benjamin or Arthur or Matthew when nobody else could, and he was rather fond of Kumajiro so an excellent playmate he made. He did odd little jobs that nobody else did; he didn't mind popping out to the village shop to get Iain's cigarettes, only getting mildly irritated when he returned to find his tea had gone cold. A proper hard-working valley-boy, Iain would fondly comment from time to time.

That morning Arthur and Francis had had a lengthy one-sided argument. Arthur, the stubborn mule he was, absolutely refused to wait in the lounge whilst the conference took place. Francis was a little bit paranoid about having him around the other nations for so long, as if worried that they may do something to deliberately wind him up or cause worry.

The conference room itself was the last room sat at the end of the corridor of the fourth floor. There were no elevators in operation that day so the family had to take it nice and easy for the sake of their two expectees – it was Arthur who really struggled though. Again Francis wanted to confirm that Arthur's decision to stay was final and of course the answer was a snappy 'Yes!'  
Even Alfred failed to persuade his boyfriend before his pride was hurt.

"It doesn't cover your stomach. Everyone will notice!" He whined just before they stepped inside the room.

"Stop complaining," Arthur sighed wearily, re-tucking the front of his shirt from where Alfred had tugged at it. "This is one your blazers, isn't it? It'll be fine."

"Yeah, but-"

"But nothing. Look, I'm not incapable of movement and I'm not noticeably heavy; the shirt covers me well enough. Let me attend this one meeting. Then, if it'll put you at ease, I promise that I'll hold back for the next two until the baby's born."

"Alright, fine." Alfred said after taking a minute to consider. This was probably the best deal he'd get. "Will you at least use the bathroom before we go inside?"

Francis decided to let Alfred try and deal with Arthur's stubbornness himself; he was too worn to try again for himself and instead fussed intensively over Matthew, making certain that the young nation had everything he might need.

"…You 'ave your cell phone?"

"Yes Papa," The Canadian pulled the device out of his hoodie pocket and presented it. "It's right here."

"Good boy. I'll keep mine on so if there's an emergency you let me know right away, understand? I'll come straight to you." Francis brushed back a bit of Matthew's fringe and pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead to reassure him. "I packed some snacks just in case you or the little ones get 'ungry. I think we'll be in there a long time, a few hours at least so make sure you drink plenty."

Dylan smiled as he watched. He had been intrusted to take care of Matthew, Benjamin and apparently Sealand too (they'd received a call from Finland requesting it) whilst the conference took place and he had no desire to let Francis or Gilbert down. The whole fourth floor of the building had been privately leased to the nations with many rooms use as they wished (assuming they used them appropriately and didn't leave a mess). One of those rooms included a rest lounge complete with soft furniture and a kitchenette. That happened to be exactly where Dylan would be watching over the Canadian and the children, and although Arthur would take his place in the United Nations, he felt a sense of pride to be given such an important task. He looked down at Benjamin who lay fast asleep in his carrier and smiled, filling his cheeks with warmth.

"Come on lad," Dylan said to Matthew once Scotland appeared to let them know the meeting was about to start. "Let's get ourselves settled with a nice cuppa, eh?"

* * *

The conference room was filled with soft pre-meeting chatter. Many nations were seated around the table already with Germany himself standing at the head. He was busy writing important notes on the chalk board so he didn't notice them come in – even Gilbert didn't seem to want to pester him. The albino just took his seat next to Austria with his head down and eyes averted. Peculiar, Roderich thought not that he was complaining. He shouldn't really; the uncharacteristic silence made a nice change to his usual unsavoury mockery.

Time seemed to drag on for Gilbert as the meeting progressed. He didn't like being away from Matthew for so long with each little minute feeling like twenty as he watched the clock on the wall with desperate jewel-red eyes. For forty-five minutes he'd sat there and watched, counting, growing impatient and increasingly restless. He couldn't focus! Not when the face of his sweet blonde lover rested dutifully in his head.

In fact, Gilbert was so engrossed with quietly willing time to move faster so that he could see the boy that he didn't pick up on any comments and points made thus failing to make notes. These notes would be going to Matthew… at this rate he wasn't doing any favours.

Gilbert's phone vibrated in his pant pockets. He immediately perked and wondered if it was one of the others in the room whom were dying for a conversation or joke to ease the boredom. Or perhaps it was someone telling him to pay proper attention. He pulled it out to take a look minding that his brother didn't see.

_'To Awesome, from Mattie, 10:46_

_Baby keeps kicking and its starting 2 hurt. Wish u were here with us. Love you xox '_

Gilbert's shoulders sagged, feeling a wanton pull as he read. He soon replied.

_'To Mattie, from Awesome, 10:49_

_Same. This meeting isnt going anywhere & im bored shitless. Luv u 2 xxxxxx'_

_'To Awesome, from Mattie, 10:51_

_Is Russia there? xox'_

_'To Mattie, from Awesome, 10:53_

_Yeah but dont worry about him. ill kill him if he goes near u. every1 knows wat he did.'_

Gilbert hit the 'Send' key and looked across the table at the aforementioned Ivan. The big Russian aimed at wolfish smile right back at the albino when he noticed, almost as if he at once knew he had been pulled into the private conversation. Then he settled back, pulled his scarf up over his chin before settling his icy violet eyes back to Germany.  
Gilbert glowered back, watching until the other broke off. He looked secretly down at his phone with a dreary look, feeling even worse than he had before.

From across the table, sat between an American and the Scotsman, was Arthur. Several younger nations occasionally looked expectantly (and hopefully) at him, wondering if any moment now he'd begin one of his infamous squabbles with either America or France that would break their boredom. But Arthur had other ideas. It wasn't long before he noticed these staring nations so worked to keep his head down with eyes averted to his notes. He sank lower in his seat with a hand to his belly, rubbing it beneath the American's borrowed shirt and blazer with regret. Every now and again he longingly turned to look at the doors, foolishly wondering if excusing himself wasn't too late.

* * *

By 1pm the meeting was cut for lunch after a long three and a half hours. Gilbert was the first to burst from the room, tearing down the corridor, a cheesy grin plastered on and without a care that he was losing some of the few notes he had in his urgency to be reunited with Matthew and Benjamin. In fact, he was so excited that he hadn't realised that he'd bypassed the lounge altogether and was sprinting for one of the smaller conference rooms on the other end of the floor.

In contrast, a miserable Arthur who wasn't feeling so good was one of the last to leave the conference room. As they walked out some nations noticed his 'portly' figure and began to mutter amongst themselves, questioning his condition. If Russia had known about Matthew's pregnancy so early on from an unknown source, it worried Arthur to think that the same had been spread about himself.

Next to him walked Alfred. The American held his hand and spoke cheerfully to keep him comforted, though he failed to interpret the smaller man's body language and lack of something to say. Alfred simply assumed that the other was tired and hungry – he knew he was.

They were suddenly stopped by Francis. The French nation wore a soft smile, azure eyes glinting warmly. "I'll join you in the lounge a short while. There's a canteen on the second floor so I'll pick us all up some lunch." Though granted it probably won't be all that good, he added silently. Alfred grinned, baby blues lighting up.

"Cool! Get me a couple hamburgers! Oh, and a soda! No, a coke! Or maybe a shake if they have them ~!" Francis smiled dropped slightly at the other's indecisive enthusiasm. Really? Didn't he eat anything else?

"…I'll see what they 'ave, Alfred. Now, what do you want to eat, _lapin_?"

Arthur's fiery emerald eyes blinked, unheeding the other's old now-rarely-used endearment and thought; what did he want?

"I want a hamburger too, with chips. Or maybe some pepperoni pizza… and some lemonade." Arthur never seemed to notice that he was going through a cravings phase until he looked back on it later whilst picking the food from his teeth. This time he really fancied something meaty with cheese, preferably dripping with grease.

As Francis turned away with a disappointed look ("The baby's taste buds will be ruined!" he told himself) and headed to the canteen, he decided to choose something for Matthew himself because he knew the boy wouldn't complain either way for Matthew's body didn't seem to demand certain foods the same way Arthur's did.

As Alfred led Arthur to the bathroom upon his request, he couldn't help but feel somewhat triumphant in the thought that perhaps the other was getting a taste for fast food.

* * *

The lounge was silent. Dylan stood by the bare kitchenette sipping a mug of fresh hot tea, his eyes fixed on the door. From somewhere down the corridor outside he heard voices leading him to suspect that at long last the meeting had been concluded. He shifted his gaze from the door to the armchair where little Peter Kirkland sat, all plugged into his Gameboy complete with earphones to block out his mindful big brother.

The lounge was a nice; big and roomy. It had a laminate floor with a large soft square rug and in terms of furniture there were two sofas, one three seater the other made for two, a big plush armchair. A dark pine coffee table was situated in the middle of the living space.

In the back of the room there was also a basic kitchenette with several necessities; a kettle and sink for making hot drinks, a stove and microwave for re-heating and cooking foods and there was even a little half-fridge. Then there was store cupboard for bits and pieces in the corner and a pool table for those who fancied a game. It would've been nice if I weren't alone, Dylan thought longingly, I could have a game then.

The door suddenly creaked open once again drawing the Welshman's attention. He expected it to be the Scandinavian parents of Peter or maybe Arthur and Alfred. Matthew had fallen fast asleep over an hour ago on the big soft two-seater couch, and, with a distracted Peter and Benjamin napping peacefully in his carrier, it had been rather lonesome for Dylan. Walking over to sit down, he thought perhaps now he'd be able to talk to someone.

He changed his mind. A gloved hand pushed the door further with another lingering before it grappled the knob tightly and heaved the door all the way open. A tall broad shape dressed in a heavy winter walked in and simply shut the door behind, apparently aware and minding the two that were sleeping. Then the man tugged at the tan scarf to uncover his smiling mouth. Peter noticed someone lurking in the corner of his vision and looked up. His little blue eyes grew fearful and wide.

_"Привет."_

* * *

Gilbert wandered along the corridor, a little bit mad that his attempt to find Matthew had been hindered by the lack of door signs. When he saw Alfred, Iain and Arthur gather at one door right up near the conference room though he jogged on over.

"Hey," He called, "Where's Francis?"

"I thought you'd already gone inside? Oh. He's gone to get lunch." Arthur answered though he still looked a bit sulky.

"Mm. I hope he gets back soon. I'm starving!"

"Greedy bastard. And after you outdid all of us at breakfast this morning." Alfred broke into laughter at Arthur's comment. He playfully nudged Gilbert in the arm hoping for a reaction but he got none. The albino was looking up at Iain. Iain was staring at the brown painted wood of the door; his freckled paw tightly enclosed around the brass doorknob and apparently was unaware of the German's stares.

"Oi, open the damn door already! I've waited long enough!" At the albino's words, Iain blinked hard and the spell was broken. He glanced warily at the shorter man dumbly, tightening his grip on the knob before finally using his shoulder to push open the door. These past couple days the red-head hadn't been quite himself; very quiet. He kept to himself most of the time, rarely retaliating when an insult was thrown.

Something unpleasant waited for them inside.

A shattered mug lay on the soiled, shards of tea-stained ceramic littering the wet rug. The low wooden coffee table lay overturned and askew with another broken mug beside it amongst a couple of books and one of Benjamin's baby bottles of formula. The trail didn't end there; both children were missing with Peter's belongings spread around on the floor and on the armchair, the Gameboy that he had been playing weakly bleeping a boxy game tune with a cracked screen being one of them. Matthew's cell phone was also amongst the carnage.

Just a few feet from the door there was Dylan. Face down on the ground, he lay limp and lifeless with his right arm sticking out at a crooked angle.

Two pairs of eyes – one pair terrified yet somehow warm with colour, the other coldly impatient – shifted to look up at them. One gloved hand moved to cover Matthew's lips as a second pulled him further onto his captor's lap before beginning to run over his belly, curiously feeling for any fluttery kicks from the unborn infant. In turn Matthew begged some kind of help from Iain and Gilbert, violet eyes turned to look up at them, dewy from held tears. Arthur backed up a step. He found Alfred's hand and gave it a fearful, wordless squeeze. Alfred acknowledged it, though his attention was turned to the shaking, shivering form of his younger brother opposite. He encouraged Arthur to let go now before kneeling down beside Dylan's lifeless shape.

The bleeping of the Gameboy droned on until it succumbed to its pitiful injuries and died. The room was left in silence a while longer.

"_Привет_ comrades," Braginski's voice remained calm though it held an undercurrent of threat, "It would have been nice if you had knocked though. Oh! And do not worry about him, _da_? He just got under my feet even when I told him not to. I did warn him."

"What thee fuck are ye playin' at here?" Iain said advancing a step. "Where are wee Ben an' Peter?" Ivan gave a little frown but answered nonetheless. "That one got in my way, like I said, so I did not see."

"Ye let thee lad go immediately!" Matthew whined but his soft pleas were muffled by the gloved hand.

"What? Why should I when Matvey's having my baby? _Da_, its so good of _Милая моя_ to decide to keep it."

"_Nein_, he didn't keep _her_ for you!" Gilbert's face had darkened to an angry shade of red. He felt a potent mixture of feelings boil up from the pit of his stomach, rising and forming a knot in his chest. He was about to lunge forward, ready to tackle Ivan to beat the shit out of him when he noticed the man reach for the lead pipe on the cushion next to him. He waved it in a taunting manner to warn the would-be heroes, tapping the faucet lightly against Matthew's cheek, the cold metal making the boy wince and shake.

"'Her'? Oh, _Matvey_ you didn't tell me that it would be a girl ~" Ivan grinned a malicious child-like grin. "Why don't you come back later? I want to spend some time with _Matvey_. It has been so long after all."

Matthew's eyes widened with panic and soon he struggled. Ivan realised that in order to keep him from jumping up he'd have to either removed his hand from his mouth or he'd have to drop his precious weapon; he didn't choose the latter. He moved so that both of Matthew's arms were now tightly secured and the pipe still pressed to his cheek. Tears welled and fell like rain down the Canadian's red tinged cheeks with a sharp hysterical cry, **"H-h-help me! H-h-he's going t-to kill m-me, h-he's going t-to kill m-meee!"** Gilbert and Iain exchanged looks; neither had ever heard Matthew so loud and naturally Iain felt too tempted to bound forward so that he could rip the Russian's head off.

Ivan smiled at the boy on his lap. He pressed the pipe to Matthew's quivering lips whilst his grip around his fragile body tightened.

"I'm not going to kill you, _Милая моя_. Just be a good boy and nobody will get hurt, understand?" Matthew squirmed in hopeless protest, like a little child who seemed incapable of escape. Alfred looked up from Dylan, whom had he had rolled onto his back. He didn't understand. Matthew, though not quite as strong as Alfred, could've easily thrown Ivan off. True, Matthew suppressed his strength for emergency use only but didn't this count?

Arthur bit his lip. Very slowly he knelt down, setting a steadying hand on Alfred's shoulder as he went before timidly leaning in. His eyes never left Matthew and Russia on the couch.

The door suddenly opened again and in stepped the two Nordics, Finland and Sweden. The Finn had previously been chattering softly to the taller man, whom he knew was listening well despite simply nodding occasionally. They were here to collect Peter only when they saw the state of the room and its inhabitants they stopped and stared.

"A-ah… what's going on…?" Tino piped, the sight of seeing a distressed Matthew in Russia's possession making him feel nervous. "W-where's Peter?" Ivan didn't answer however he did begin to re-think the situation. Matthew's struggles became feeble, but with a new potential opponent had arrived in the form of the Swedish nation. Even if Scotland and Prussia weren't a strong as himself, the added Berwald and possibly Alfred would do no one no good.

He still felt the need to repay Berwald for stealing his Matvey away from his home, something which he hadn't had the chance to do all year.

Slowly, Ivan withdrew. His arms uncurled from Matthew's body and the lead faucet pipe removed from his lips. The shaky Canadian was carefully aside on the couch. His breaths in the meanwhile had quickened becoming rather erratic and without any rhythm, a fine line standing between that and him hyperventilating.

Ivan didn't spend a second trying to seal the parting with any sort of contact or verbal conduct. He just smiled as Matthew huddled up and buried his head in a cushion to try and stifle the cries. Then, the Russian carefully manoeuvred his way out of the room where he began to hum a cheery tune down the corridor. Iain had slammed the door behind him, half-tempted to do it so it actually hit the Russian. But, they'd been let off with fewer casualties that way.

He gave out orders to the nations starting with Tino and Berwald. "Find thee kids an' make sure they're safe an' sound," He instructed before turning to Arthur, "Run to thee loo an' grab some toilet paper fer Matthew, an' hurry ye self about it!" The younger blonde nodded wordlessly, himself wide-eyed and looking scared. Gilbert needed no-one to tell him what to do. As soon as Ivan had gone he'd darted over to Matthew who by now had broken down into a shivering, sobbing mess.

Finally, Iain turned to Alfred. The two worked together to carry the unconscious Welshman to the second sofa to rest more comfortably.

There was a cry of relief from Tino. They'd found the children hiding in the store closet though it wasn't clear to whether they'd be shut inside by Ivan or if Peter had hidden them himself and couldn't get back out. Somehow Benjamin was still asleep in his carrier. Peter looked shaken but seemed alright. It felt a little bit crowded now in the lounge so Berwald decided to do the other family a favour by taking his own out of the way. Benjamin was given to Iain, Peter's things collected, and then they left after saying goodbye to Matthew. Finland did inquire to whether there was anything they could do to help. Iain simply requested that they make some extra notes for their use. Then, the family of three left.

Arthur soon returned with a bundle of toilet paper. He brought it over to Gilbert who had the curled up Canadian nation on his lap, one arm wrapped around the coiled body and steadily rocking it back and forth whilst the other stroked the wavy blonde hair. Gilbert even tried his hand at whispering gently in German – there had been times previously where he'd done the same and it had worked. This time… not so lucky. Matthew had difficulty wrapping his mind around what was happening. Everything seemed to be a hazy blur of voices and people. Not to mention he could feel an awful headache come on induced by him crying so hard.

After Iain had finished examining Dylan for himself, he quietly turned to Alfred. Benjamin had been taken out of his little baby carrier by the American, who was quietly cuddled him. Iain lightly patted Alfred's shoulder.

"Ye got Germany's mobile number?" Asked he in a soft, gruff voice.

"His cell? Yeah, why?" Alfred cocked his head at the other, who's eyes were as hard and tight as wood.

"Text him an' tell him that none of us will be here for thee rest of thee meetin'. Ye lot are all going home… if ye need to get thee doc in. I think Taffy's arm is buggered so I'm callin' in a paramedic; someone needs to be here for when he wakes up. Then depending on the outcome, I'll call a taxi back or one of ye can come by with thee car."

"W-wait, what? You want us to go home?!"

"Russia will still be here an' Taffy ain't in any condition to be on sentry duty. I don't want Arthur stressin' neither, he certainly doesn't need it. They're both better off restin' at home where they belong, safe an' sound."

"Hey, Arthur's just fine, he said so! Besides, you didn't see him earlier just before the meeting. He was determined to get his say in staying, y'know, and if that's what he wants… he's okay! H-he…" Alfred babbled his argument, his mind too much of a confused muddle right now to think straight.

"Ye don't know what he wants. Ye don't know him like I do," Iain slowly turned his gaze over his shoulder at the sofa. It looked as though Matthew had calmed down a little bit. With a little bit of help from Arthur, Gilbert was gently dabbing the Canadian's face with pieces of scrunched up toilet tissue, "If ye did ye would be able to tell how scared he really is. He's never before had to go through the stress of carryin' and raisin' a human child. An'… an' as thee kid's father thee least ye can do to stay to raise it."

Iain dropped down onto his knees and went about trying to pull Dylan into a more comfortable position with his bad arm draped over his stomach, silently fretting. Now he had two younger brothers to be worrying about, one of which would probably become his sole responsibility… and for that, he supposed he was partly relieved that Gilbert was now the one to solely love and protect Matthew and Benjamin.

"Hey… hey… what if I don't turn out to be the father? D-do I still stay even though Francis…?" Alfred asked quietly, dropping down next to him. He didn't want Arthur to hear what was being said.

"…It's not my place to say. Tis for thee mother to decide who helps, if anyone… ye know what they say: Ma knows best, an' all that shite."

Then the Scot fell silent. Alfred set Benjamin back into his carrier and went to the kitchenette to send Germany's text and to call the paramedics, his own mind still rather foggy. Iain turned his head and mutely listened to Arthur and Gilbert as words of gentle encouragement were spoken to the sniffling Matthew. Then all of a sudden there was a soft wail and fresh tears as Matthew realised his child wasn't in his arms.

"W-w-where's my b-baby?" He nearly choked on his tears. Gilbert quickly retrieved their son where immediately upon receiving him Matthew hugged him close with a soft sigh.

Very little happened for a short while longer. Gilbert embraced Matthew, nuzzling and kissing his neck until he felt warm and responded with a mumble of approval.

Arthur felt restless, not to mention a little bit crampy again. He moved about hoping to ease the pain, pacing back and forth the room with a soft whimper. In the end Alfred had to stop the wandering, insisting that he sit on his lap on the big armchair.

Francis at last returned with a combination of foods and beverages on a tray. However, somehow everyone had lost their appetite – even Alfred. Then Iain went through the lengthy process of explaining to Francis what had happened and why his son was huddled up with Gilbert after crying his heart out and the plan to return to the house.

"'E isn't 'urt, is 'e?" The Frenchman asked.

"Don't think so. Scared him silly if anythin'. Taffy weren't so lucky though but I haven't got a clue to what happened there. Paramedics should be on their way though."

The next hour dragged painfully. Wales finally came to much to everyone's relief. And Iain stayed at his side even when everyone else left and the paramedics finally arrived. A dislocated shoulder, a broken ulna and a small bump on the head were the diagnosis, nothing life threatening however he was taken to the hospital to be dealt with properly. A few hours later, Francis came to pick them up and drive them home.

Dylan was delightfully 'out of it' for the rest of the day, right up until Iain got fed up and put him to bed at eight. He'd been given a very strong painkiller for when the doctors had been fixing his shoulder and now the whole arm was up in a strong, tight sling and cast to help the healing process, which was promised to be a long and an uncomfortable one. And the following day when the effects of the morphine dose faded, the confused and sore Welshman was hit by a torrent of teary apologies from Matthew regarding the day before. Of course there were no hard feelings – not that Dylan could even remember himself. He was simply happy that nobody else had been hurt. It just pained him, the fact that he couldn't even remember what he'd done to end up so battered in the first place. Dwelling on the past was not something Dylan liked to do, so as quickly as he'd begun to think about it, he was back to his household duties under Iain's close observation.


	25. Sweet Agony

**Chapter 24:**** Sweet Agony**

**Date:**** 29 October (October part 1)**

* * *

The following weeks were both trying and difficult for the whole family.

Matthew's pregnancy became more noticeable as he neared the final few weeks of his gestation, at last finding it too difficult to keep the discomfort and pains to himself. Gilbert did everything in his power to try and make it easier for his boyfriend… even if it meant running out to the village store at 11pm to get him a banana milkshake or a ham and cheese sandwich. Matthew never kicked up a fuss about needing something; he only had to muse about something he felt like eating or drinking and Gilbert would be fishing out Francis' car keys.

During these last days Matthew spent a majority of his time either sleeping or eating. His belly looked horribly swollen with the new life that it concealed and his joints and muscles felt equally sore though nothing compared to the cramps. Since most medicines were a no-no and those that were pregnancy-safe had little effect, Matthew had to find more efficient ways to take his mind off of things…

As always, Gilbert was very eager to help – especially if the bedroom was involved. And then if that was the case nobody would see hair nor hide of either for at least an hour or two. And then when they'd stagger back, the eldest wearing a stupid, smug grin and the younger with an equally sated look, Iain would look on in envy.

Another little thing that the others noticed aside from the increased sexual activity of the youngest was that when Matthew wasn't sleeping or eating or playing with Benjamin, he was cleaning. He seemed as obsessed with mopping the floors and doing laundry as Gilbert himself. The German said often that Matthew shouldn't have to do so much but the wispy blonde seemed compelled to do it. And when he was asked 'why?' he couldn't seem to provide any explanation other than he wanted everything to be clean.

If it wasn't the housework then it was Matthew unpacking and re-packing his hospital bag; swapping and switching what pyjamas to take, which books he wanted to read for when he would be resting after labour, and other bits and pieces. Apparently Matthew found it relaxing.

Then several days before, Matthew had gone for a check-up with the doctor and his 'specially assigned' midwife after realising the baby was by now at least a week late. He needn't have worried though as he was reassured that all seemed well despite the lateness. The baby was positioned head-first and in good health.

But because of his concern, the midwife could only suggest ways in which Matthew and Gilbert could try to induce labour themselves. Things like castor oil and spicy food hadn't done the trick, nor did walking, any herbal teas or to be indulgent with sexual acts. With the latter, Gilbert was rather keen.

But tonight Gilbert wasn't just looking forward to a bit of 'adult time'. There was also something else.

Some time ago the Prussian man had lost a certain velvety black box somewhere. His own attempts to find it had been in vain and for the longest time he'd secretly vented out his frustration on numerous pillows and cushions. That box itself was worthless; what it held inside was the reason of his upset. He'd paid over €2,000 in hard-earned cash for the best… and that was now thought to be gone.

He almost suffocated Kumajiro with the hug he'd delivered when he found the little polar bear playing with the box earlier, everything intact and unharmed. So with the black velvet box tucked securely into his back pocket with a certain question to pop, Gilbert went off to seek his lover.

As suspected Matthew was sitting on the bed in their bedroom, once again reorganising his hospital bag for when he needed to be rushed in.

"Busy packing again?" Matthew looked up for a moment. He sighed softly and went back to folding a tiny lilac jumper that Arthur had knitted himself.

"Yes… why? Is it a problem to you?" Came the huffy response. Gilbert's shoulders sagged at the other's sharpness and approached the bedside. He slid onto the mattress until he was right behind Matthew before leaning forward to wrap his slender arms around the swollen belly.

"Not at all, Liebling. I'm just concerned," Reassured the older man, gently tugging the other's baggy t-shirt up and over his bump for a better feel. "I don't like you spending so much time on your feet. You need to rest more, after all the baby could be coming anytime now."

"I'm fine! Stop getting so protective, I don't need more rest!"

Gilbert was taken aback by the feisty response but in no way did he project himself in a negative tone. He simply went back to stroking his fingers over the taut pinked skin and hummed gently before responding, "Ja you do. You've got a baby growing inside your belly… my baby," Ah. It seemed as though he was still in denial about the unborn child's true parentage. Matthew said nothing about it though. "You know damn well that if there's something you want I'll get it for you, or if there's a job you want doing I'll do it. Just please, for the love of Gott, stop stressing out." Matthew acted as though he hadn't heard, continuing to push things into the unzipped duffel bag at a more careless rate, face maddened slightly with a soft pink blush. Gilbert sighed. This was no way to break down Matthew's aloofness.

He's in a mood again, Gilbert thought with a sigh deciding on a different approach. He brought himself up onto his knees and brought one hand up from Matthew's belly to brush his blonde hair back behind his ears instead. He gently tugged a magazine from the blonde's grasp and tossed it aside. Matthew scowled. He made a move to grab something else to pack only for Gilbert to smack his hand; not nearly enough to hurt but it did make the Canadian nation withdraw.

"I think you've done enough of that for now, Birdie." Odd. Matthew's expression switched to one that seemed more curious.

"Y-you haven't called me that in a long time..." He noted quietly as the older albino swiftly began to clear away what was left on the bed, stuffing the necessities into the duffel and dropping it onto the carpet.

The crimson eyes turned to look up at him, soft and half-lidded. His mouth gradually changed to form a smile, one that almost quivered and didn't extend past his thin pale lips. He looked as if he were about to cry… and somewhere within his chest, Matthew felt something. "Well, I've decided that since it's so awesome and cute, I'm going to start calling you that a lot more, like I used to ~"

When the pair had first been properly acquainted several years back, Gilbert, the creative fellow he was, had come up with the idea of pairing Matthew with the nickname 'Birdie'. He'd never really explained why he'd chosen that one in particular or what had sparked the inspiration per se (although Matthew had always wondered if somehow Gilbert associated his cute blonde Canadian along with his cute yellow avian friends). It was eventually forgotten by the time the couple had become intimate, so in a way, hearing the name again made Matthew feel all nostalgic and tingly.

Gilbert scooted back onto the bed where he plonked himself just in front of Matthew. Slender, sleeveless arms extended and wrapped around the heavy waist, pulling in for a hug. Matthew said nothing; just sighed and buried his nose into the crook of his lover's pale neck.

Very slowly, very gently, Gilbert eased Matthew up onto his lap with his hands resting on his hips to keep him steady. Prompted, Matthew rested his elbows on the Prussian's narrow shoulders, leant in and pressed a kiss to the top of the other's nose, right between those luscious red rubies. Gilbert followed Matthew with a mischievous grin as the young nation rocked back on his lap, passing a pale hand through the long, sandy hair, twirling and wrapping his fingers in the lovely locks. He spread his fingers across the back of Matthew's scalp, using it to guide the boy's lips to meet his own in a messy kiss.

With the added reassurance to Gilbert that the other wouldn't now accidently slip from his lap, his other hand was granted the freedom to roam beneath the Canadian's pyjamas. Gilbert finally broke the kiss, a strand of saliva momentarily connecting them before it too severed. Matthew squirmed a little with protest when he realised that the buttons to his pyjama top were falling undone. In one quick movement Gilbert tugged the extra-large top off so that all that was left was the Canadian's exposed chest. From their short time together, Matthew's body bore much more than a child; his body was heavily marked. Bites and soft pink bruises decored the delicate flesh in random patterns around his throat and collarbone.

At once Gilbert reluctantly withdrew his hand from the tender nipple he'd seized and encouraged Matthew to look at him. "Are you alright, schatz? Did I hurt you?"

"N-no… the baby…"

Matthew panted, the uncomfortable feeling of the baby shifting within making him squirm and shake with soft drawn-out whines of his voice, like wordless pleas for her to stop for just a moment so he could try to enjoy himself. By now there was very little room for the baby to move without making Matthew himself uncomfortable. When Matthew finally found his tongue his voice came out weak and whisper-like as he reverted back to his passive self.

"…Gil, I don't think we can go any further than this today... sorry. I'm sorry." He whimpered, breath catching when he felt another uncomfortable twist. Gilbert ran his hand through the soft blonde hair, brushing it back behind Matthew's ears. "You're not upset, are you?"

"Of course I'm not, Liebling. Ah… sorry if it seems like I was pushing you." No matter how hard he tried to conceal it, Matthew could hear the subtle disappointment in Gilbert's voice. "Sex is probably the last thing you want right now, huh?"

"It's not just that, Gil. Mmf… I swear I'm not kidding when I say she's going to be a big baby. I can't get comfortable and it hurts…"

"I know. But just think how awesome it'll be when our family is complete. We could get a little cottage in Canada, an old stone-brick one with three bedrooms und we can have a little iron stove in the kitchen for when it gets cold. We could get a cottage on the edge of town so that we can have a big garden with a pond and an apple tree, und we could get a dog – just like we use to talk about, remember? Und I'll get a job to earn a little more money for us und the kids… we'll be like a real little family, like the humans."

Gently, very gently, Gilbert eased Matthew from his lap back onto the bed and pushed him down, one hand supporting held beneath supporting Matthew's back whilst the other reached for and slipped a pillow beneath the sandy-blonde head.

Matthew stared up at him. The red eyes of his boyfriend seemed to glow in the dark room, almost radiantly. "I-is that what you want? For us t-to be more like a human family?" Gilbert leaned over him and kissed his nose, his lithe body held to the side of the heavy belly.

"Uh-huh." This time the pyjama top came off completely, tossed aside as Gilbert moved to lie beside the aching pregnant body. Fingers brushed the kiss-marked skin, tracing aimlessly before wandering down to meet the bump before withdrawing with a small jerk and settling on the flat of stomach above. Matthew allowed Gilbert to simply get out this momentary fascination. As long as he was gentle and did no harm, he didn't mind. And he wouldn't; the retired nation really did seem to think that this child was his. He'd gently coo at and talk to the belly from time to time, and sometimes when Matthew was tired and the baby restless he'd try to softly sing them to sleep with a German lullaby (despite the man was off-key and seemingly tone deaf, Matthew or the unborn infant never complained).

Matthew was glad that his boyfriend was readily accepting the child. Nobody mentioned Russia in the house anymore, or at least they didn't when Gilbert was near. Even Iain was courteous enough not to although he'd been preoccupied with Dylan and his arm as well as the quietly panicking Arthur.

"Not long now, Birdie. I love you, _ich liebe dich_ ~" The German purred, looking up at Matthew to see him slowly close his eyes. Gilbert pushed their lips together in one last chaste kiss before settling back down with his head resting on his chest. It was unusual, Matthew noted, for Gilbert to be so mellow. The albino smiled. He lightly set his head down on Matthew's chest whilst his stroking fingers finally settled to rest next to a cheek.

"Gil?" Piped Matthew. The Prussian man cracked open an eye. He hadn't really been sleeping although he felt as though he could now.

"Ja?"

"What if something bad were to happen to the baby?" He sounded worried. Gilbert scowled; not at Matthew but at the idea.

"Like what?"

"Like… like if Russia tries to get custody of her?"

"Why'd he do a thing like that? She's our baby; Russia has nothing to do with her."

"Gilbert, I know you want to believe that-"

"I won't let him take her or you or anyone from me. If you ask me the bastard should get his balls ripped clean off if he ever decides to come within ten feet of you. H-hell, I do it myself! I'm not scared of him!" Gilbert was shaking with anger, a horrid mad flush of red filling his seething face with colour. Matthew sighed softly and eased himself up against the headboard. Gilbert too sat up. He shuffled up onto his knees and his hands wrapped around Matthew's since he didn't know what else to do with them. In any case, the warm touch comforted the older man.

"Birdie… Mattie, I'm sorry. It's just… I don't know. I'm upsetting you und right now that's the last thing you need."

Matthew gave the pale hands a gentle squeeze. "You haven't upset anyone but yourself. You get yourself worked up too easily, that's the problem. Oh Gilbert, I know how much our family means to you… I'm sorry for bringing Russia up. I shouldn't be worried. Alfred confirmed that after he met up with our bosses a few months ago the agreement that Ivan couldn't see the baby without consent was passed. Our governments will protect us if nothing else will, and if that fails then we got family to back us up; our brothers, Arthur and Papa and probably even Spain and Iain. I'm sure S-sweden and Finland would back us up too. Nobody will take our baby and nobody will break up our family, understand?" Matthew's soft voice sparked determination which only made the albino smile, forgetting his provoked worry.

Gilbert suddenly flicked on the main light. The bulb flickered once or twice before the room was filled with a dim, hazy glow. Rubbing his eyes Matthew reached for his glasses which were on the bedside dresser, propping them up onto the bridge of his nose. When he looked back Gilbert was looking down. He withdrew the little black box from his back trouser pocket and curled his hands around the base and over the lid. Slowly, as if shy, he scooted forward.

"O-oi, don't laugh, and hear me out, alright? I have a really important question to ask you, Matthew Williams…"

* * *

The wall clock in the kitchen downstairs softly ticked with each passing second, tireless as it went about its work. Francis stood beneath it at the counter where he was pouring himself yet another glass of red wine. This was only his second and the night was still young, so to speak. Unlike England and his brothers and Prussia, the Frenchman considered himself to have a pretty good alcohol tolerance. The Frenchman glanced up once more to check the time – 9pm, then putting the glass to his lips he turned and left for the living room.

The fire crackled in the hearth, spilling out a strong golden glow. The days were growing cold and wet as winter approached, and night time was no better. Even if the sun somehow managed to break the cloud cover for an hour or two each day between rain showers, the bitter October wind was enough to put anyone from going outside for long.

The television was on but only Alfred paid any attention. To commemorate the start of watershed, a bad ghost horror was playing on Channel 4. Alfred was sat on the sofa, hugging a throw pillow in both arms close to his chest in anticipation. Arthur sat beside him. The little Englishman was dressed in his pyjamas (one of Alfred's t-shirts complete with some jogging bottoms) and appeared to be entirely focused as he worked on a little teddy bear. He'd spent all day working on the homemade toy, taking the upmost greatest of care to ensure that the stitching was of quality and the detail accurate – this was to be a child's plaything after all. However, because Arthur had spent so many tedious hours trying to craft something wonderful for his soon-to-be child, his temper was finally starting to wear thin.

"Ah, dammit it all!" He suddenly cried just as Francis entered the room, making Alfred jump.

"Now what?" Iain grunted without moving his eyes. He was sat beside the fire with Dylan, armed with several rolls of fresh gauze and cotton pads for he had been busy re-wrapping the Welshman's arm now that he'd bathed.

"I pricked myself on the damn needle." Arthur lifted his finger up just as a little spot of blood welled from the tiny wound. Francis popped himself down next to the Briton, setting his wine glass onto the coffee table and slinging an arm around the narrow shoulders of the scruffy-haired blonde.

"It's only a small injury, _lapin_," He said with a playful smile. He reached into his pocket for a tissue and wrapped the pricked digit, firmly pressing the covered tip between his thumb and finger. "Put it aside for the night now. You've been working non-stop these few days to get all these bits and pieces sorted for the baby. It's about time you got some rest."

Francis managed to pry the plush bear and the threaded needle from Arthur, adding it to what he'd already confiscated on the coffee table, well out of current reach. It wasn't that the blonde Briton had been swayed as so much as that he was simply too tired to put up much of a fight. Although his belly had swelled to a fair size, once again Arthur was proving to yet again be a difficult feeder and he continued to act persistently restless, too stubborn to give up his keen interests to sleep properly. His body was suffering and quite possibly so was the baby.

Francis could see that Alfred was distracted. The American was on the edge of his seat with his sky-blue eyes staring hard at the television set, fingers boring into the soft throw pillow as the tension built inside the movie. It was almost he was completely unaware that there was anyone else in the room with him. The Frenchman sighed. The rate he was going, Francis wondered if the younger nation would even be competent as a father. Even as the self-proclaimed that he was, Alfred simply wasn't use to caring for helpless others.

Iain gave the newly strung sling supporting Dylan's bad arm a testing nudge to check that it was secure. Satisfied, he patted Dylan's good shoulder signalling for him to get up. "Alright Taffy, that should do it for ye. I'll check it before bed."

Dylan shifted onto his knees. He lightly touched the sling, passing his fingers over the material and sliding them down to gently brush a tender spot on his lower arm, just where the bone had been broken. As a nation he'd healed much faster than a human would've. The doctor had confirmed that he was nothing short of a full and complete recovery now however to prevent any further damage it would have to be kept wrapped and slung-up for another fortnight at least.

"Yeah, thanks there Iain, I appreciate it. And stop calling me 'Taffy' will ya?" The request was half-heartedly said, a little battle that he hadn't won once since the start long ago. The Scot chuckled deeply, catching him under his one good arm and with a strong heave, pulled Dylan up onto his feet and helped him to the empty armchair.

"Right," He said in his husky voice, "I'm goin' up to give Ben his bottle. Be back in half an hour, maybe." And he was gone; off to the kitchen to begin making up the infant's feed. Francis watched him go and Dylan unceremoniously waved him off knowing that his older brother wouldn't care either way. Since injuring his arm Dylan had been sharing the sofa bed in the tiny second guest room with Iain, and as of a week ago they'd also acquired Benjamin and his cot too; an act of prudence in which Iain insisted that Matthew allow him to care for the child at night until the new baby was born. Of course Matthew had been a little uncertain at first but the Scotsman could always be trusted to do the nightly duty, allowing Matthew to get the rest he so badly needed.

Soon the commercials came on and Alfred was snapped from his trance. He suddenly sprang to life, throwing the pillow aside and stretching out with a smile he turned to Arthur.

"Scary movie so far, huh?"

"I'm not watching it. And neither should you."

"What? Why not?"

"Because you'll get scared and then by the time we go to bed you'll be too wound-up to sleep. It happens every time I let you watch a damn horror film and to be honest I'm getting sick of it."

Alfred pushed his bottom lip out, pouting. "It doesn't happen every time."

"Yes it does!"

"It does." Francis quickly agreed. The number of times it'd happened these past weeks was astounding, to the degree that the American was made to sleep on the couch after a particularly bad fright. Arthur just couldn't deal with it.

Arthur was about to open his mouth when he heard a tremendous ruckus coming from the landing as Gilbert came thundering down the stairs shouting in an alarmed tone, "Francis! Fuck, someone call an ambulance! Fucking hurry!" At once Francis, feeling nervous, jumped up to meet him. Dylan, Arthur and Alfred turned their heads and listened to the shouts.

"What's wrong? What 'appened?" He asked. Gilbert's face was riddled with panic.

Iain stuck his head around the kitchen door. "What thee hell is that screamin' about? Fuck me, it's a damn good job we don't have bloody neighbours!" He hung around a bit, interested, and a scowl on his face.

"It's Matt!" The Prussian exclaimed, now conveying a joyful look despite his panic with his arms flapping.

"Is 'e alright? Why an ambulance?"

"His waters broke, he's gone into labour! Hurry!" Then Gilbert turned and went flying back up the stairs. Francis exchanged looks with Alfred and the brothers before he was in hot pursuit.

On cue, Matthew appeared at the top of the stairs with his hospital bag over one shoulder and his hand smoothing the replaced t-shirt over his belly, smiling and seemingly indifferent to what was happening. His pyjama bottoms were wet, particularly around the crotch and inner thighs indicating that indeed he'd entered the tedious stages of early labour. Gilbert flew up beside him and Francis halted just in the nick of time.

"_Mathieu_, are you alright? Does it hurt?" Matthew shook his head with a little smile, gently patting the belly and averting his gaze to the ground with a little blush.

"I-I'm fine, but the baby's pushing down a bit… erm… maybe we should go to the hospital now?" He fidgeted, feeling both embarrassed and uncomfortable. Francis took the bag from Matthew and ushered both him and Gilbert downstairs to the front door. Whilst Gilbert helped Matthew into his coat Francis began to urgently discuss with Iain and Alfred to what the plan of action was. Needless to say there was little agreement.

"Right ye are. Thee two of us will accompany Matthew to thee hospital." Iain said. Alfred protested, ducking into the conversation.

"Why should you go? I'm his brother!"

"_Angleterre_ and Dylan are in any fit state to be left alone, especially with a baby upstairs and one soon to be arriving. They need to be supervised just in case something happens."

"But why does it have to be me?"

"Do ye care for Arthur or dontcha?"

Alfred blinked. He moved away from him a little. "Yeah, but… I wanna see the baby when it-"

"-_She_."

"-She is born." Francis looked softly from face to face. He himself wasn't sure to do, what was and wasn't right. Moral brotherly support would probably be good for Matthew right about now. Francis was glad that the American felt so concerned for his brother's health at this time although it left him worried for the other two Britons who'd be left behind if nobody stayed. Naturally Francis wanted to also be there for the boy. He was his father after all.

Francis sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He blanked his head for a moment to get his mind straight before slowly filtering the thoughts back in. "Alright Amérique," He said, "You go with Mathieu and those two to the 'ospital. Since it seems big brother is the only responsible one out of us three, I'll stay behind."

"Ahahaha! Great, we'll be back soon!" At that he pranced after Gilbert and Matthew who were already heading outside to the drive.

"Hold on." Iain went to the coat peg. He found his heavy-duty navy parker and dipped his great paw into the pocket. He pulled out a set of worn car keys and tossed them over to Francis. "Take my car. I just filled thee tank this morning. I'll stay here an' keep watch."

Francis turned the keys carefully in his hand, surprised at the generous offer. "Are you sure…? I'd rather make sure that Arthur is comfortable 'ere."

"I'm positive. I ain't got no place at the hospital. I'm not a father or a grandfather. Hell, I'm hardly what ye would call a good brother. Besides, those two useless tossers of mine need a close eye an' a firm hand." Then Iain went over and held the front door wide open. "Go on," He gestured with his head. "We'll be alright. Just call when it's all over." Francis thought it best not to argue. He pulled on his shoes and the first jacket he'd grabbed from the pegs and hurried. Within minutes the engine of Iain's old banged-up car was heard as it spluttered down the gravel drive and out of sight. Iain lingered a bit longer before reluctantly closing the door.

"How lovely of you." Came Arthur dryly.

"What?"

Arthur folded his arms across his chest. "You know what. Acting like the good guy when all you really want is to be with Matthew, the only one with Matthew. We would've been fine on our own here." As he spoke his tone became harder, as if angry; not with Iain but seemingly with himself and his own problems. "I can't be dependent on someone after I have the baby. Alfred's hopeless… he didn't even give a damn second thought about me and our child before running off."

Mutely Iain walked right past Arthur and into the kitchen where he had a freshly made bottle of milk formula standing on the counter, cooling. Arthur followed; he didn't feel like sitting in the living room or continuing with the teddy, or even watching TV. He just wanted to talk.

Arthur's ginger and white cat padded softly into the room. The mature old tom looked up and about with sharp green eyes before deciding to ignore the nations in a typical catty-fashion in favour of investigating it's food dish up on the worktop. Arthur stretched out and gave the grumpy tom's very round head a gentle pat, eliciting soft purrs automatically.

"…Is that Benjamin's bottle?"

"Can't imagine that Taffy will want it."

"There's no need to be like that. Can I bring it up to him?"

"If ye want. Then I want ye to go straight to bed, understand? Maybe if ye a good boy I'll tuck ye in too."

Arthur wouldn't admit that he was tired, however as he looked up at his brother with emerald-greens that were hazed over with built fatigue, he knew there was no point in arguing. Iain was strict and would be sure to enforce this rule if need-be. Arthur walked over and snatched up the bottle of formula, testing the temperature on his wrist before turning. To begin with Iain was hesitant. But quickly, without even thinking he put an arm around his younger brother's shoulders and squeezed a shy hug. Arthur froze. He stood rigid and alarmed, shoulders hunched and his eyes wide and bewildered… he looked like a little mouse that had been caught by a harmless old cat without any teeth.

As quickly as it had happened, the hug was over and Iain's back was to him, now standing with the door to the back garden open with a cigarette and a lighter, acting as if nothing had happened. Dare he say it, there seemed to be something warm and genuine about that mild display of affection. Left feeling very confused Arthur scuttled away.

* * *

**A/N:**** Did I say in the last chapter that things would be pushed along a bit more ~ ? To be fair I have drawn the story out enough in terms of length... so I think it's safe to say that concluding it within the next few chapters won't be a bad idea.**

**The following chapter will be quite a bit longer though I expect.**

**Suggestions, creative criticism and comments are always welcome. I appreciate that I'm not the best writer in the world so any helpful advice and feedback is welcome. I'd also like to greatly thank everyone for the comments/feedback so far and the support that the story has received ^^**


	26. A Very Long Night Indeed

**Chapter 25:**** A Very Long Night Indeed**

**Date:**** 30 October (October part 2)**

* * *

**12:40am**

_"…I have a really important question to ask you, Matthew Williams…"_

Matthew lay back against the big soft pillow, sinking deeply into the comforting square of plush padding with a soft sigh. He rolled his head over to look at Gilbert whom sat a lounge chair at his bedside. He had his hands nestled in his lap and his bright crimson eyes watching the rise and fall of Matthew's chest.

_"…It's something I've been meaning to ask for a long time…"_

Aside from the occasional twinge of a contraction, very little in terms of progress had happened since arriving in their little private room on the maternity floor of the hospital nearly two and a half hours ago. Alfred and Francis had disappeared, presumably to sort out a few details with Doctor Thompson and the other doctors. All discomfort aside, Matthew wasn't feeling too bad. A bit groggy but he supposed that after having very little sleep over the past few days he supposed it was to be expected.

But they had a comfortable private labour room in the maternity ward with all the medical experts and carers that they would need. There wasn't even a bleachy, soapy smell which was so strongly associated with hospital cleanliness, which was another added bonus.

_"…S-so…. Matthew… I love you. A lot. Und…. I know I haven't always been the most awesome of guys... und I guess I was kind of a jerk when we first got together. But that's changed! I've been working really hard, und I asked Ludi for a lot of favours to get enough money to do this… Kesesese… you wouldn't believe how much I owe mein little brother now…"_

Matthew was brought from his musings when Gilbert leaned forward to brush back the blonde fringe from spec-less lavender eyes. "How're you feeling? Do you want the doctor?"

"Jeez… Gilbert you worry too much, eh. I'm fine." Matthew smiled endearingly. He sought out the other's hand and gave it a good squeeze. "…Although I'll admit that I don't know what to expect this time round. I'm glad that we made it to the hospital… I don't think I could manage another home birth." He leaned back as he held out against another contraction, holding onto a breath until the pain subsided. Gilbert scraped his chair closer until he was able to comfortably rest his body close to Matthew's. He took care not to accidently catch any of the wires or knock anything from atop the small bedside cabinet; the stack of books which they'd brought along, his folded pair of glasses and a disposable plastic cup of water were amongst the items left there on the side.

Gilbert inched over further until he was slumped with his ear resting over Matthew's heart. Through the thin material of the hospital gown he could better hear the steadily beating muscle. Gilbert could more or less guess how the labouring blonde felt, be it worried or afraid, but the heart's rhythm seemed soothingly easy. Humming softly whilst beginning to pet his love's hair, Matthew's eyes were drawn to the little plain piece of silver jewellery on his ring finger, and in particular the small cut ruby set in the back.

_"…So Matthew… you'll marry me, won't you? ... H-hey! What's with that face? You okay, Birdie?! Oh shit!"_

Gilbert reached up and, leading Matthew's hand to his subtly smiling lips, pressed a kiss to the ring. The ring marked Matthew as his, a symbol that told others (including any would-bes) that this little piece of turf already belonged to someone.

Granted, the proposal hadn't been the smoothest. Matthew's waters had broken moments after accepting the ring and so since then they hadn't had much alone time – and probably wouldn't until after the baby's birth – so this precious time spent together in the delivery room felt to be a nice plus.

There was a knock and the door immediately opened. A woman popped her head round the door a moment before the rest of her followed through; the midwife, presumed by her scrubs. The midwife smiled as she approached the couple, closing the door behind. Gilbert fully lifted himself from Matthew's person and sluggishly got up from his chair.

"How're we doing?" She asked. Matthew shyly looked away without an answer. Gilbert gave her a suspicious look as he moved from one side of Matthew to the other, his hand never leaving the bed as he walked around. She looked a bit plain but nonetheless there was nothing about her that Gilbert considered to be ugly or threatening. Her skin had a soft healthy glow about it with kind hazel eyes, and without so much as a dusting of foundation on her cheeks. Her hair was a lovely rich shade of chestnut-red, and she had it tied up in a tight bun with only a couple of curls hanging over her cute heart-shaped face. Her expression was trusting and all-smiles.

"I'm sorry," She said to Matthew and Gilbert, apparently aware of the albino's uneasy retreat, "My name's Emily, but you're free to call me Ems if you'd like. I'll be standing in for Judith as your midwife. I understand your case and I'd just like to inform you that I am a certified midwife. You'll be in good hands, I assure." She indeed seemed much nicer than their last midwife; the middle-aged blonde with the sharp blue eyes had been a bit of a cynical bitch.

Matthew nodded. "O-okay… um…where is Judith?" He inquired softly. Emily seemed to ignore him as she went about moving the lounge chair back so she could get to the cabinet.

"Where is Judith?" Gilbert echoed, louder. The brunette turned back to them, picking up her clipboard of notes from where she'd just put them on the bed.

"She's taken ill I'm afraid. We've already informed France and America about the situation and we've received confirmation from them for the time being. Now, according to this labour started three hours ago?"

"More or less. That's when his waters broke." Gilbert responded gruffly, perching himself on the edge of the mattress.

"Hm. And nothing major has happened yet either it seems."

"Contractions, yeah. That's it."

"I see. This isn't your first baby either, or so I've been told. Did anything like this happen during the first time?" Matthew's turn to answer.

"I… I don't think so. I think the contractions started earlier. I had the baby not long after the waters broke… so this time it feels kinda different."

"No two pregnancies will be exactly alike even during the time of labour," She explained with a smile as she began to flick through the bundle of medical notes she had, "Some mothers are holding their new baby within an hour of arriving here whilst others are waiting nearly a whole twenty-four hours before they can start pushing. It's both very trying and unpredictable."

"And painful." Matthew added, shifting slightly as his he felt the onset of yet another painful cramp.

She gave Matthew a quick but thorough physical examination to try and determine at what stage he was at and asked the couple a few questions before jotting a few more notes and leaving. Shortly after Francis returned looking as though he were about ready to call it a night.

The withered man approached the bed, drag-footed, kneading his eyes with the knuckle of one hand in an attempt to wipe the sleep away.

"I've called Iain up to let 'im know of what's 'appened so far. 'E seems 'appy but I'm afraid Amérique will 'ave to go 'ome to 'elp with Arthur."

Matthew looked up at the Frenchman with a worried expression. "Arthur? Is he alright? He is hurt, sick?"

Francis dragged the lounge chair and seated himself close to the bed. He linked his hands and placed them upon his lap, his tired eyes lifting to meet the wary lavender of Matthew's in reassurance. "Non, nothing like that, thank goodness. 'E's just become very restless and won't go to bed without someone. I swear 'e's more troublesome than Benjamin sometimes."

"Oh… I miss Ben…"

"I know, _petite_. You'll see 'im again soon, I promise."

"Has Alfred already gone?" Asked Gilbert. Francis sighed softly and shook his head.

"_Non_. 'E's down the 'all talking on one of the payphones to 'im. I knew one of us should've stayed with _Angleterre_ to keep 'im settled."

"I hope he'll be okay."

"Don't worry about Arthur, _petite_. For now you just need to rest and keep your mind set on the baby. Speaking of which, 'ave you finally found a name you like?" Francis' smile took a gentler turn as he swiftly changed the subject. Picking a name for the baby girl hadn't been easy, he knew; whenever Gilbert and Matthew had previously gone onto the subject it always seemed to end in petty bickering as they batted names back and forth like a game of Ping-Pong.

"No… no, not yet, papa. We haven't been able to pick something that we both like."

"_Ja_. This happened with Benjamin as well, y'know. Funny how you said that you hated the name 'Benjamin' yet it was the one you ended up choosing, huh?"

"I-it was the only name I could think of at the time… I only remembered it because you kept mentioning it." Matthew protested poutily. Gilbert burst with laughter, reaching forward to pat the ringed hand.

"There, there _schatz_. No need to get like that ~"

"You'll think of something, _Mathieu_. The right name will come along soon, don't force it. When I first 'ad you, finding a name with right, erm 'je ne ce quoi' took time. It's all a matter of trial and error."

"I just want to find the perfect name." Francis smoothed back the Canadian's sandy blonde hair back behind his ears and leaned forward, pecking his cheek with a chaste kiss. The boy seemed upset – or tired. It was a bit tricky to tell at this point though both were a likely possibility.

"Rest," He took Matthew's ringed hand and gave it an encouraging squeeze, though remained unaware of the silver jewellery. "You won't do yourself any favours getting worked up about anything. We'll be right 'ere if you need anything. Once your brother is finished on the phone, 'e will too for a little while."

"Yeah. If you think it'll help you could take a shower; there's one in the ensuite."

"I think I'll be okay. Maybe after the baby's born but not now. I just want to lie down." Gilbert fussed a little more over the boy, plumping his pillows and readjusting his blanket, anything to make him feel comfortable and happy. But that was difficult to achieve with a boy slowly suffering through early labour. Then the boy was urged to drink a little from the cup of water that they had on the side before Gilbert decided that he needed to climb onto the delivery bed next to him to cuddle and keep him calm. The bed wasn't the easiest for two nations to lay upon side-by-side as it quite obviously wasn't built for two, and with fear that the sheets would get muddied Francis made Gilbert remove his shoes beforehand.

They eventually settled with Matthew lying partly on top of Gilbert. He took advantage of the situation and positioned himself so that Gilbert took the majority of his weighty stomach whilst he did his best to curl up. Sleeping wasn't an option; the horrid occasional contractions made sure that any hope of peace was thwarted. Matthew was soon a limp noodle in Gilbert's arms, all pink-faced and panting softly as his fiancée attempted to keep him calm.

"Better call the doctor in soon…" He warned Francis when Matthew grew all the more restless; twisting, groaning and whimpering. Alfred eventually slipped into the room without a word of disturbance. He drew up another chair to the bedside and watched as Matthew's breaths grew a litter quicker.

Once the restless twitches became more violent and the cries began, the doctor was summoned.

* * *

**1:25am**

Iain was laying in the large plush bed in the master bedroom. He was the only one awake now, too hyped with anxiety to get any rest. His mobile was set to vibrate and was on the bedside table, waiting for the moment when he'd receive the call or text that the baby had been born or if there had been a complication of sorts. But he held a strong sense of faith in the Canadian to be alright and simply tried to focus on resting. They had the car and a copy of the house-key so if need-be the others could let themselves in if they did come home at any point.

Arthur had been a pain to bed down. Dylan couldn't be left alone. Benjamin was a baby. The Scot hadn't signed up to act as a responsible parent for his younger (adult) siblings but he supposed that with both being so incompetent (or so he put) he had no other choice.

So with Iain being the crafty lad that he was, he improvised.

The bed in the master suite was a good size and he thought that with a bit of consideration it could easily bed down two or three people. He was right, although it was a bit of a squeeze, but nonetheless he had Arthur curled up in his arms against his chest and Dylan behind snoring softly with a fixed sling keeping his arm. Benjamin remained in the guest room; no sense in waking him up by shifting his crib around or by upsetting anyone else should he be startled awake.

It didn't seem as though Alfred would be coming back. Since getting into bed and taking his heavily pregnant brother into his arms Iain had picked up several texts. Each one had indicated that Matthew was drawing nearer to 'popping the lil' sucker out' and needed the support of his heroic big brother. Iain simply spat in disgust at the utter arrogance of each message. He swallowed his tough big brother-pride and continued to mutely coddle his youngest. Never mind Benjamin; Iain was more afraid that Arthur might wake. Luckily for him the blonde only shifted occasionally, subconsciously trying to make himself more comfortable by rolling onto his back and sides. Iain spent his time just watching the peaceful look bestow his baby brother's face, content and feeling without need to feign indifference. Behind, Dylan muttered something incoherently in his sleep; Welsh, probably. Iain gently pulled Arthur deeper into his arm until he was hugging him like a teddy bear before nestling his chin into the mop of dirty blonde, the hairs tickling his nose and chin as he exhaled.

**2:10am**

_"Brother?"_

Iain cracked open a murky green eye. His mind was a groggy, tired mess which wavered in an out of a state of consciousness. Beneath his hold his younger brother stirred, awkwardly turning to face him.

The Scot loosened his hold a little on the small Englishman but embarrassed, he refused to look at him. Arthur was positioned so that all he could see in the pitch darkness was his brother's chest.

"Mm? What's wrong, have a bad dream?" Arthur blinked sleepily as Iain began to gently brush down his sweat-dampened hair.

"No… nothing like that." Unusually, the English accented voice was quiet with a distinct undertone of what might've been fear. "Is Alfred home yet…?"

"No," There was no pause in his answer. "He ain't. He's probably still at thee hospital with Matt and Frog-face… an' maybe with a new baby."

Arthur made a move as though to roll himself out of bed but a sluggish Iain stopped him before the Brit could leave, leaning forward and firmly grabbing his wrist.

"Where do ye think yer goin'?"

"I'm not tired. I want to see them."

"Yer not leavin' thee house at this time of night, especially not on yer own." Iain's voice threw out a no-nonsense and demanding tone, which as always Arthur was willing to try himself against.

"But Iain-"

"No buts. I'm not gonna be havin' ye drivin' off at this time of night alone, nor am I leavin' Taffy with thee bairn an' bear on his own. Tell ye what; if America ain't back by thee mornin' then we'll all go off together to thee hospital for a visit."

Arthur fell into a short sulky silence. Iain arched a red brow, expecting not to get anymore lip from his difficult baby brother.

"…Fine… I'm still not tired."

"Alright, alright. But instead of wakin' that lummox-" And he glanced over at Dylan, "- let's go downstairs an' watch us a bit of telly though. One hour, that's it. Understand?"

Although it seemed a bit of a tight deal, Arthur took it anyways. He decided that a bit of late night television would probably do just the trick to help him get back to sleep and for Iain to be so kind and flexible with decisions was new. Yawning, Iain helped the other into his dressing gown and slippers. Then he took him into the bathroom, and, once relieved and finished with his business escorted the heavy-stomached Englishman down to the ground floor.

* * *

**4:18am**

Canada cried out loudly, his face red, his eyes dilated and his whole body heaving and glistening with sweat. A constant stream of teams pricked his eyes, falling and wetting the crinkled white bed sheets. Someone grasped his hand, squeezing firmly, that person talking in a soft and an encouraging tone. But Matthew didn't hear it. His mind was just a muddle of pain and fear, desperation and, somewhere, excitement was hidden.

The excruciating pain had been barely numbed; the second stage of labour had come on so suddenly that the doctors had deemed it unsafe to administer any kind of strong epidural or numbing medication. Oh God, did the doctors expect him to give birth without?

… Apparently so.

Matthew arched into his pillow, gasping between sobs and choking on the tears as he failed to keep up and time his breaths with each difficult contraction. The baby was bearing down on his pelvis now making the urge to push painfully unbearable. He seemed oblivious until at long last the contraction ended and the unfamiliar voice of a nurse told him to stop, backed up only by Gilbert who gave his partner's hand an additional squeeze.

As if to show relief, Matthew fell limp into the pillow, his head lolling to the side with his lips parted wearily. His sandy blonde hair, though pulled back into a ponytail to keep it off his face, hung limp with stray strands plastered to his sweaty red forehead. His iconic curl bobbed as he blankly searched the faces of those in the room. Midwife Emily from earlier and two other nurses, neither of which he knew were amongst the few in the room with him, as well as Gilbert and ; Francis and Alfred were gone, quite possibly out in the waiting room or making calls. The young English doctor himself was agitated enough with the stress, well aware of how much pain his patient was in and so was juggling the idea of using some stronger sort of drug to try and subdue his misery if only a little for a short while. At the same time he didn't want to risk the nation or the child, well aware of the legal action that might develop if the baby were to be delivered stillborn out of his own negligence. In his defence, Canada was the first pregnant male nation he'd ever had to deal with.

"Gil… i-it really hurts…" Gilbert wiped at the Canadian's flushed brow and kissed his cheek.

"I know, I know. You're doing an awesome job Birdie, so hang in there just a little bit more, okay?"

"I-I-I can't. It hurts too much… oh…! I can't take it any longer!"

"I give you my sincerest apologies, sir, but it's too risky to administer anything too strong at the moment. If you continue using the entonox gas between and at the start of contractions, I'm certain you'll find some sort of relief." Thompson told him, gesturing to the entonox cylinder next to the bed. Gilbert leaned over and brought the mask-piece to Matthew, holding it to his mouth and coaxed him to take a deep breath.

The blonde sobbed through the mask. Gilbert held the mask in place since Matthew wouldn't whilst he persisted in trying to soothe him.

"It'll all be over soon, Mattie, I promise. C'mon, deep breaths. In, out." Teary violet orbs focused on gentle crimson, and Matthew forced a smile. Gilbert petted his love's forehead again and again until Matthew caught up with and steadied his breaths. "Good boy. Just like that."

* * *

**4:35am**

The waiting room on the maternity ward was shrouded in silence. Several other individuals were waiting alongside Francis. Outdated magazines and newspapers were left scattered on the tables and some of the seats, for those here were too engrossed with their thoughts to want to read. Francis immediately could tell that not all of them were fathers; some were likely to be brothers or uncles or close friends. He guessed the same with some women. A few young pretties did spark a brief moment of interest in the Frenchman but not enough so as to kindle his urge to get up and flirt. He was certain nobody would be interested, and the risk of getting kicked out was likely.

One man in particular caught the Frenchman's eye. He was sitting right opposite from where he was, dressed smartly in casual wear with a rain dampened fedora sitting atop a folded trench coat beside him. Francis guessed that the man was in his late twenties, perhaps early to mid-thirties. His hair was short, jet black and stuck up in various places. Ice blue eyes were fixed to his lap where his linked hands sat. He himself was very still. In fact, if he hadn't of coughed a half hour ago Francis wouldn't have noticed him at all.

Francis tried to decipher the man's reason for being here. It was hard to tell for the seemingly older man had been likely been sitting here waiting long before he had arrived. Other than himself the man was the only other sitting alone. Was he a late-on-arrival father who was being forced to sit-out on the birth of his child, or perhaps a brother or cousin?

Francis's interest in the man dropped when a nurse came walking in with a clipboard. She stood and looked about, not realising that the lone blonde foreigner was the only one watching her. Was this it? Was she to call him in and tell him that he had a grandchild? Francis clenched his knee and with bated breath he waited.

A party of three were called up instead. Caught in a state of euphoria Francis tried to get himself settled once more. The nurse and her overly excited followers left quickly. Alfred passed them in the doorway. He evaded them with ease before approaching Francis at a leisurely pace, chomping away at a candy bar.

"Where in God's name 'ave you been?" The older blonde grumbled. Alfred perched himself on the next seat and waved what he had left of the chocolate.

"Want some?" He asked, unfazed by the French nation's upset.

"_Non_, absolutely not. Now, if you would be so kind, answer me?" Alfred stuffed the rest of the candy in his mouth, biding himself some time to come up with a diligent answer. If he admitted and told Francis that he'd simply been raiding the vending machine for sweets then he'd be in trouble.

"Jeez, keep your hair on, Frenchie. I was just in the canteen grabbing myself a cup of coffee. A hero can't fall asleep at such an important time! Ah-ha-ha ~"

"The canteen closed at seven-thirty. That's long before we arrived." Came the unimpressed reply.

"…Alright so maybe that was a stretch… I didn't mean to take so long though! First I really had to use the bathroom, and of course the one on this floor's out of order so I had to go all the way to the ground floor, and-" Francis just listened as the childish America took over the conversation with his needless banter, all of which was quite obviously all a stupid lie. He nodded automatically and reached for his phone to see if he'd gotten any texts or calls whilst it'd been switched off. None. He'd sent one a couple hours ago to Scotland to let him know of the situation but hadn't heard from him or anyone since.

"-So after I helped this guy with no legs downstairs I ran all the way back here – 'cause the elevator broke – and I went to the vending machines. I was gonna get you some coffee but I only had enough coins for some candy bars."

"Sometimes you really are a stupid, selfish little boy." The Frenchman suddenly got up and began to make his way towards the door.

"Eh?! Where did that come from?" Alfred scrambled to his feet and pursued the other. It got under his skin, the way Francis had so coolly spat out the line.

"You. Where does Arthur fall here? Tell me, does 'e even matter to you anymore?" The two were walking down the near-empty corridor towards where the few expensive and private delivery rooms were at.

"Jeez, what's up with you all of a sudden?"

"It's not 'all of a sudden', Amérique. I've been meaning to talk about the situation of your relationship with Arthur for a while now."

"Whaddya mean?"

Francis almost felt like not justifying him with an answer, just to see if the young nation could figure it out on his own. "Sometimes you simply treat Arthur as more of a burden than an emotional someone who's carrying a child. You don't seem to realise that once 'e 'as the baby things will not simply return to normal. As 'is partner and lover 'e'll expect you to stay and father the child… but then with the chance of it being mine, I'd want to as well."

"B-but I'm the hero… a-and the hero-"

"Would a 'ero abandon 'is 'eavily pregnant partner? I know you love your brother, _Amérique_, so do I, but it seems as though you've remembered 'im and forgotten another." Francis stopped himself before he could get too worked up. He stood in the narrow corridor and sighed, running a hand through his long flaxen-blonde hair. His hand slid down to massage his temples and then further down still to rub his tired panda eyes. Having not slept in nearly 24 hours he was being to succumb to fatigue in all its glory.

"Hold on, I haven't forgotten anybody!"

"If only it were that simple. You'll soon be a father yet you're far from behaving like a proper mature adult. I don't know 'ow you'll manage to cope."

"A-are you doubting me? Hey, I can do it! If Matt can-"

"You and _Mathieu_ are two very different people with different ways of thinking and with very different opinions. Out of you two, Mathieu's always been the competent responsible one." Francis continued down the corridor, turning a corner when he got to the end and entering through some double doors. Alfred followed. Inside the turn-off point there was a small lobby with a desk manned by a male nurse. Behind them there was another door which broke off into a small corridor where the private delivery rooms were at.

Francis approached the desk, waving to catch the attention of the nurse before he disappeared.

"Ah, excuse me?" The young man in scrubs glanced up.

"Yes, can I help you sir?"

"We're with _Mathieu_ Williams and Gilbert Beilschmidt. We were wondering if there's been any change…? Any news about 'is progress?" The man seemed to pause for a moment, thinking.

"_Matthew_ Williams? You're… France, I take it?"

"_Oui_. And this is America."

"Hey. Can we see my lil' brother now?"

"I'm afraid not. He's currently still undergoing labour and having more people than necessary inside the delivery room might prove to be a bit of a problem."

"Oh. I understand. But is there any way we can stay? Maybe just wait 'ere by the desk?" The male nurse glanced around warily before pointing to a small glass-windowed room just behind.

"It's reasonably quiet so if you like you're free to make yourselves comfortable so as long as you're not too loud. Women who stay in these rooms expect to have it easy. As for Canada… his progress is rather slow. It might be a while longer before you can see him but when you can someone will come and fetch you." Then the man sorted through a few papers and hurried himself off to tend to one of the resident patients.

Francis and Alfred took to the small waiting room. Again like the larger one out on the ward floor there were comfy seats (though a fair fewer) and a magazine pile on the low glass-top coffee table. There were a few children's playthings scattered on the carpet next to wooden toy-crate; things like dolls and books and little plastic soldiers amongst them. A water dispenser and a small office trash bin were in the corner beneath a window. Francis raised his tired eyes to look out, only to be disappointed when all he saw was complete darkness.

"Hey France?" Francis looked to the American who sat hunched over on the seat across.

"Mm?"

"What did you mean earlier when you said that Matt was the 'responsible' and 'competent' one? Were you trying to imply something?" Francis' azure eyes widened a little. Then Francis moved away from him a little, eyes falling.

"I'm sorry," He said softly, "I didn't mean it like that. I'm just so worried for Arthur as well right now. You didn't see the look on 'is face just before we left… 'e looked so 'urt. Like 'e thought we were abandoning 'im."

"But we weren't abandoning him. He'll understand, right? When we get back and tell him, he'll get it."

"Maybe. Arthur 'asn't been quite as predictable lately so reading him will be a trickier matter." There was a moment of silence as the two nations thought they heard laborious cries coming from one of the rooms. When that passed Francis slowly stood and got himself a cup of water from the dispenser. He drank gradually, eyes fixed on a point outside, taking only a few sips at a time until every drop of water was gone.

"…_Amérique_… Alfred. I 'ope you don't take offense to this, but if at any point over the couple weeks you don't feel ready to take on the responsibility of 'elping to raise a child… then I won't 'old it against you. I'll be perfectly 'onest; it's not easy. At all. I hope you realise that if you do leave Arthur I will 'ave no choice but to step in and 'elp 'im instead. Either way I won't allow 'im to feel alone."

"Are you just saying that because you could be the kid's dad?"

"_Non_, I'm saying it because I care for 'im, a great deal more than you in some ways that you could never understand." The Frenchman stated a-matter-of-factly in an attempt to test the waters rather than immediately hurt. "True, I might not 'ave anything to gain from this child. It won't be a country with new territory or people to claim and overthrow. It'll be an ordinary, fragile little human baby simply born out of unusual and wonderful circumstances… regardless of what you may think Amérique, Angleterre deserves to 'ave this little bit of 'appiness. " Breaking off into another silence Francis wandered from the dispenser. He moved silently, unhurried as he returned to his seat whilst Alfred, feeling hot the collar, watched.

Was the French bastard trying to intimidate him…? Biting his teeth together Alfred silently hated the older man. Francis on the other hand was warming to his work in a dreamy fashion, un-deliberately but most certainly agitating his companion.

"'E's lost so many children in the past. But of course a human child is something far more special. 'Is own dear sweet flesh and blood. Even if his time with the child will only be fleeting compared to 'is own lifetime, 'e'll still get to love and nurture it without fear that another will take it all away."

Alfred's stomach knotted as a potent mix of guilt, anger and affliction began to bubble and churn. He said nothing out of fear that he might accidently say something regretful, and if he did he was paranoid that Francis might jeopardise his position as Arthur's lover and as a father as a result. A terrible feeling but he knew could be a good dad, couldn't he? Plenty of young, un-experienced men like himself were thrown in the turmoil of early parenthood and came out okay… he would be okay too, wouldn't he…?

They remained silent for a long time. Francis began to read from mother and baby magazine that he'd picked up from the table. Coincidently the first article he'd landed on was a debate; the views of first-time mothers with babies vs the opinions and knowledge of those who'd had multiple children. How both parties seemed to think they knew better and bit each other's heads off about it intrigued the French blonde.

Alfred got up and wandered to the window where he perched up on the sill. He leaned in and pressed his forehead up against the cool glass, breathing shallowly. It was beginning to rain outside, unsurprisingly. Little pellets of water pelted the window. Alfred simply shifted his position with a small muttered sigh and turned his head a fraction to look at Francis. The man took no notice, simply content with reading as a means of passing the time between harsh thoughts.

As a father Francis was understandably worried. Should something happen to Matthew and the baby during labour it would be terribly unfortunate – no, devastating – to everyone. He knew he'd be sick with grief if something did.

"What're you thinking about?" Francis looked sheepishly up at the young nation by the ledge.

"Oh… nothing. Ha-ha, nothing at all, don't you worry." He put the magazine aside and stretched out his arms until he heard a satisfying click.

"Are you sure? You looked pretty intense just now."

"It's none of your concern." Alfred was a little unconvinced. He pulled out his cell phone, checked it for any new messages, and popped it back.

"Jeez, you're as bad as Arthur," The American laughed. "Seriously. You need to go home and get some sleep, old man! And pronto!" Alfred said that well aware that his advice would go unheeded. In all fairness he needed a good forty winks himself!

Francis smiled weakly. Well… at least the bespectacled blonde didn't seem quite as upset.

"As nice as that or a cup of coffee sounds right about now, I think I'd like to see this through until the end. Poor _Mathieu_. I 'ope everything is going alright."

* * *

**A/N:** Another long-ass chapter ~

Unless you count a sleeping Wales, just about everyone made an appearance in this one. I decided to focus the latter half of this chapter on France and America's strained relationship.  
Sleep deprivation seems to have the same affect on Francis as getting very drunk. Symptoms for both include lack of concentration, fatigue and the urge to piss off whoever's in the room ^^

Anyways, this chapter was originally much longer with the birth of the baby finishing it. Instead, that's how the next chapter will start out and possibly finish.


	27. There Were Complications

**A/N -**This one was a pain to write. I had multiple ideas, too many to really decide what to use. This whole chapter has basically been rewritten x5 times at least now XD  
Mm... there's probably going to be at least another four or five chapters. One or two longer ones maybe with some shorter ones to conclude... could be finished by the end of summer. I'd also like to thank **Hetalialover1396 **for helping me to settle with a few ideas for this and possibly future chapters ^^

* * *

**Chapter 26:**** There ****_Were_**** Complications...**

**Date:**** 30 October (October part 2)**

* * *

**5:19am**

Matthew was at it again. Three sets of contractions later and miles of sweet words of encouragement from Gilbert and the Canadian was pushing once more. But… the baby had made very little progress.

"Come on, you're doing an awesome job!" Gilbert urged with balled fists. He was caught up in the moment, desperate to see his love relieved. It all felt too slow, almost surreal to be caught in such a precious moment. He'd seen many births on TV and in films where the whole process of labour was cut down and portrayed as a relatively painless experience, where everything went absolutely perfectly. Seeing reality… well, least to say Gilbert was terrified.

Matthew snapped forward in his bed with a hoarse cry, quivering violently as he strained to push. After a few long painful seconds Matthew's body jarred and he collapsed back with a weak cry, utterly exhausted with floods of hot tears streaming down cherry-red cheeks.

"I-I-I'm sorry… I c-can't…" Gilbert wouldn't accept this. He snatched up Matthew's hand, squeezing it hard. Matthew rolled his head feebly to look his fiancée in the eye. But he couldn't hold the gaze and instead his head lolled back even further, if that was even possible.

"Birdie you can't give up now!" Matthew felt too hot and wrung out to answer. As if in an act of protest he just laid there, watery violet eyes gazing deep at the crimson depths of his fiancé's, hiccupping between breaths.

As he had done before, Gilbert held the gas mask to Matthew's mouth and nose and encouraged him to inhale. The cool rush of oxygen filled his lungs giving the Canadian a sense of new strength as the air re-oxygenated his blood and lightly numbed his pain, and as such he grew rather light-headed and dozy.

Thompson knew that the whole ordeal was affecting them both. The Nations were a high priority, and, come rain or shine he'd be damned if he would be the first doctor to have one of his Nation patients die! The young English doctor really did care for them – he wouldn't admit it but after having spent the majority of this year caring for the elusive England and his family, Thompson felt much closer to them as both a professional and an acquaintance. So to see the albino become more and more distressed over his partner's agony was understandably difficult.

By the time he'd had a few more huffs, Matthew's breaths had calmed. Again Gilbert took a clammy hand in his other own and squeezed, gently this time.

"You're really cute." He complimented quietly, picking the boy's sweat dampened fringe away from his spec-less eyes with his fingers.

"Don't say that." Matthew whimpered back in a pained voice. The Prussian man barely managed to soothe the boy's tears.

Contractions soon started again. The numbing effects of the entonox didn't last long, and within minute Matthew was crying out his pain once more. Matthew crushed his partner's hand in his own as the Canadian Nation lost his usual control over his inhuman strength during a particularly bad strain before he decided to finally withdraw, instead grappling at the edge of the mattress for leverage leaving Gilbert to nurse his injury. Screams pervaded the air, the cries now beating into the Prussian's mind.

The words of the midwife and doctor were lost in a haze of pain and tears. Gilbert tenderly rubbed his hurt hand with a small grunt, his wide red eyes never leaving his struggling partner as the medical staff did everything within their power and within reason to help the blonde boy. He too tried to encourage Matthew until it became apparent that words alone were no good.

With a soft cry of "Maple!" Matthew violently arched back into his pillow quite suddenly. He remained imbedded into his pillow for a few long seconds before flopping; face flushed a deep red and dripping with sweat, his curl bobbing with each sharp motion as he panted. He was deaf to the excitement of the nurses and Gilbert and his eyes were glazed and unseeing. Rather than subsiding, the unconceivable stretching, forced pain simply worsened. He felt the weight of the baby low in his loins now. Contractions were squeezing the child along through the birth canal but no definite progress beyond that had been made.

"I-I can't!" He gasped. "I c-can't do it… i-it hurts t-too much."

Gilbert stopped tending to his hand and turned to the labouring boy, taking the oxygen mask and offering it. "I know, schatz. You're so close now, you can't give up. Come on, deep breaths."

"I-it's not working… Gil, th-there's something wrong, I know it…!"

"H-hey, don't say that! There's nothing wrong... don't worry. C'mon, just breathe." The albino lovingly nuzzled the blonde only for him to weakly pull away with a soft wail. "It hurts… no Gil… _**Aaah**_!" A sense of urgency was brought upon those attending the birth when blood was seeping out from his orifice.

Matthew was examined when he cried for the doctor. Soon the cause of extraordinary and unusual pain was brought to light. At once a decision had to be drawn.

* * *

**5:45am**

The ward was very still. Alfred had long left the comfort of his seat in the private waiting room to stare out of the full-sized window next to the closed door. He stood leaning forward against the glass, head resting on an arm whilst the other hung limp in its socket like a wet rag. Unlike the hero, the old blonde had succumbed to sleep. Francis Bonnefoy was a man bound to a routine that, even if he missed a few hours of sleep, found it increasingly difficult to function properly. Then Frenchman couldn't help it even considering the circumstance.

Alfred's sky blue eyes were glazed over with fatigue yet they seemed to tirelessly stare beyond the glass window out to the reception desk where a single young woman was now working. She seemed aware that the American was there looking out so she rarely stifled from her work. And once or twice she glanced up, pretending to be looking for something just as excuse to try and form some sort of eye contact with the handsome blonde. A flirtatious girl, she was quite unaware that the American whom she liked the look of was taken. Given half the chance she'd have approached in a not-so-casual manner in hopes he'd chat her up.

Meanwhile Alfred was far from interested in the girl's occasional hopeful glances that were aimed at him. His eyes were fixed on the short corridor that led to his brother's room. It'd been a long time since he'd seen anyone go in or out and now he was beginning to get worried.

He wanted to phone Arthur. Hearing the Briton's voice would be reassuring… but he'd already tried ringing his mobile phone twice – no response. Then afterwards he'd sent a text nearly every 20 minutes or so with hopes of a reply. Again nothing. Arthur was probably fast asleep with his phone left on the kitchen counter or on the coffee table in the lounge.

He'd given up a long time ago trying to contact his boyfriend. Now he just wanted to push all thoughts of Arthur to the back of his head to focus on how his brother might be doing. His conversation from earlier that he'd had with Francis still hung fresh in his mind, but like with Arthur he simply pushed it back, way, way back to where it could be left and forgotten for the time being.

suddenly left one of the delivery rooms – Matthew's room – and spoke to the girl at desk. They exchanged words very briefly, no more than a few words from him and one or two from her. Then she sprang to life, seizing the phone on the desk and immediately dialling. Then she looked up and pointed to Alfred in the window with a pen before talking to whoever had picked up on the line.

Thompson hurried over looking rather grim.

"Yeah? Is everything okay?"

Thompson shook his head. "I'm afraid not. A serious difficulty has come up I'm afraid, Mr Jones. To put it quite simply the baby is a little larger than expected. The nature of its size has meant that it's become lodged in the birth canal. Your brother won't be able to deliver the baby naturally."

"W-what? He's not going to die, is he? What about the baby?!"

"Please calm down, sir. Despite all effort Matthew will need assistance – a caesarean section to be precise. He's being prepped for theatre as we speak. He's a strong boy so I don't think you'll have much to worry about but I fear that without immediate intervention both he and/or the baby might not make it."

"Can I see him?"

"Not now I'm afraid. Prussia will be joining you here. In the case of an emergency caesarean he won't be able to accompany us into the operating theatre." Thompson combed a hand through his dark hair with a soft sigh. Alfred rushed over to the peacefully dozing Francis. He took the Frenchman by his shoulders and gave him a violent shake to rattle him from his slumber.

Meanwhile back in the delivery room the nurses were directly administering a strong anaesthetic into Matthew under previous orders of Thompson. It was decided that for this one Matthew would have to be knocked out completely to try and make it an easier process – the last thing they needed was Matthew panicking half-way through the operation if he remained fully or even semi-conscious under weak influence.

As the anaesthesia was being fed into his system via an IV catheter that had been inserted into a vein in the back of his hand, the albino brushed his thumb over the boy's hand as a means of trying to relax him. The needle only hurt a little compared to the pains in his lower abdomen and crotch area, however even that subsided when the pain-killer took effect and he found himself drifting off into a dreamless rest.

When he was fully out of it a nurse turned to Gilbert. "We'll take it from here," she said wearing a warm smile. "Please don't worry. We'll let you know when you can come in to see him."

* * *

**6:33am**

If the fact that Matthew was in surgery wasn't enough to unnerve Francis, there was also Gilbert. The white-haired nation was pacing back and forth inside the small waiting room. His garnet eyes were wide and stuck looking to the ground, his arms folded across his chest. Every now and again the German ripped back his sleeve to check his watch before continuing to stiffly march back and forth.

Francis had been trying to distract himself from his friend by reading a magazine. He was trembling slightly but managed to control the tremor in his voice. "Gilbert, please, please try to remain calm. Sit down and 'ave a drink of water." The Frenchman got up and stopped the other, placing a kind hand on his shoulder whilst gesticulating to Alfred to get him a filled cup from the dispenser. The American caught on immediately and jumped up.

"I-I…" Gilbert began. Now that he'd been brought from his thoughts the whole scenario was starting to catch up with him. Silently he buried his face into his hands and Francis managed to ease him onto a seat.

"I know you're worried, _mon amis_, but crying will not 'elp anyone. You need to 'ave faith that Mathieu and the bébé will be 'appy and 'ealthy." Getting to his knees Francis proceeded to pry Gilbert's hands away and gently forced him to look at him. Gilbert clenched his fists and rested forward on his legs. He looked as though he'd cry any moment.

"I j-just… I'm-" Francis waved a hand in his face, shushing him.

"Take a moment to breathe, Gilbert… good. Like that, just like that." Alfred made sure to keep well out of their way. Heroes weren't supposed to fret. Like Francis said, they had to have faith that everything would be okay. Mumbling something softly in German, Gilbert cradled the hand that had been crushed earlier, rocking back and forth in his sorrow.

Very little was happening outside the room as Alfred returned to the window. Nurses and the occasional doctor came and went from the other delivery suites but aside from that there wasn't much else. Ever since Thompson had told them that Matthew would need that emergency C-section he felt as though he had a knot in his gut which only made him feel sick.

Being the hero that he was, Alfred didn't want to worsen matters by telling Francis. He just sucked it up and stood his ground against the horrid ache, letting his mind draw a blank. However his drastic change in behaviour and body language betrayed him.

Once the Frenchman managed to settle Gilbert he got up to try and knock a bit of confidence back into the American.

* * *

**7:15am**

Everything had finally taken a calm turn in the waiting room. Exhausted from getting no rest and worrying, the Nations were now musing in silence. Then Thompson walked on in, a clipboard in-hand.

"Doc!" Alfred was the first to see him and came hurtling over. "Hey, what happened? Is everything alright?"

"Is… is Matthew alright? Please tell me he's okay." Gilbert looked pleadingly up at him. Thompson's eyes never strayed from his clipboard as he leafed through a few notes.

"Though still considerably young, you have a strong boy. You should be proud." Thompson smiled. His eyes slowly met with Francis' before diverting to Gilbert. "Matthew was in a great deal of pain. The operation was a difficult one… it's the first we've ever had to perform on a man. But… he did pull through. He and the baby are doing just fine. A little girl, just like you were expecting." There wasn't much time for neither Gilbert nor Francis to react as they found themselves being scooped up into Alfred's strong arms and squeezed tightly in a rambunctious hug.

"He's okay? He's okay! Ahahaha!"

"_A-Amé…rique_…" Francis struggled against his grip. Gilbert on the other hand rejoiced. He slung his arm around the American's neck and laughed, "Kesesese!" Despite the albino's joy, a string of tears ran down his cheeks. Thompson smiled thinly at the Frenchman, raising a dark brow.

"Would you like to see them?"

Of course the answer was a big 'Yes!' from all three. Thompson led them all out of the room, speaking to them as they walked down the hallway towards the private recovery room on the ward where Matthew would be.

"He'll be very drowsy so I'll insist that you keep the visit short so he can rest. I'm glad we got to him in time especially after losing a bit of blood."

"So was the baby really that big?" Alfred asked, recalling what he'd been told before. Thompson nodded.

"Yes. The baby was indeed a big one… about 10lb 6oz, would you believe?"

"Jeez… that's pretty big."

"If I remember correctly, Canada once told me during one of his prenatal examinations that Benjamin was a great deal smaller. About 7lb 5oz. So yes, in comparison this little girl is much bigger. Actually whilst we're on the subject I'd like to discuss the possibility of encouraging England to have an elective caesarean."

Francis and Alfred exchanged looks. "Why?" The bearded blonde inquired looking uneasy.

"Well it'll be the man's first. Usually the firstborn of any mother is smaller – about 6 and a half pounds give or take. But like in Matthew the so-called birth canal is probably a much tighter squeeze, and again if England happened to have a large child… difficulties would arise. Frame-wise England is quite a petit man compared to Canada."

"What if doesn't want the surgery though? You can't make him have it, can you?" Alfred inquired.

"Oh no, of course not. By all means if he wants to try and deliver naturally then he can. We'll intervene if we must, it's just with surgery we could avoid any difficulties before they happen, should there be a chance. We really dodged a bullet with Matthew today."

They soon arrived to the small room where Matthew was being kept, just as a nurse was leaving.

Thompson waved the clipboard and caught her attention before she could go. "Ah, nurse. How is he?"

"Still asleep, doctor. We've taken the baby to the nursery to rest…" She smiled when she noticed the hopeful looks on the Nation's faces. "Would you like me to go and get her?"

"That'd be smashing, thank you. She shan't be out long but I'm sure these gentlemen would like to meet her before they go home."

The nurse went off with a nod of her head. Just before stepping inside Thompson turned to the Nations.  
"Now like I said, Matthew will be very tired. Let him rest, and if he's asleep try not to wake him." The three nodded and then they were taken inside.

It was reasonably spacious, adorned with some basic furniture; there were a couple of comfy-looking chairs for visitors and for the resident Matthew there was a small single wardrobe and bedside cabinet for possessions. A curtain rail around the bed offered privacy and the door to the ensuite bathroom was located just to the side. The Nations were rather impressed with the cosy set-up.

Thompson shut the door behind them before hurrying over to the curtain and slipping inside.

Francis followed cautiously behind. "Can… can we come in?" Almost immediately the happy English doctor pulled the curtain back along the rail, revealing Matthew.

"Quietly, mind. Pull up one of the chairs." He gesticulated towards one of the aforementioned chairs with a hand before darting to the side of the bed to check the IV catheter that was still inserted into the boy's hand. The Canadian looked so small, so helpless… even for the soft-spoken boy it was unusual to see him look so weak.

Alfred brought the chairs over and claimed one, Francis taking the other. Gilbert perched himself on the edge of the bed. Understandably he wanted to be as close to Matthew as possible. Once Thompson finished fiddling with the catheter he turned for the door.

"I'll leave you lot to it then." He said. "Half an hour, no more. I'll come back to collect you after that time."

"Ah… _merci_." Said Francis.

"Yeah, thanks." Their eyes never left the shallowly breathing form of the young blonde. The blanket was pulled right up to his chin with his head canted to the side.

"'E looks settled. Asleep and terribly worn out, but settled." Francis remarked after a short while.

Alfred shuffled, finally breaking his eyes away from the sleeping form of his baby brother.

Gilbert glanced over at once as the nurse from earlier walked in. In her arms she held a small bundle of baby wrapped in swaddling.

"Hello," Like before she spoke in a soft and kindly tone. She positioned the baby allowing the men to get an initial glance of her tiny pink face. "I have someone here who I'm sure you gentlemen are eager to meet."

It wasn't until he heard the sudden shrill whine of the new child that Gilbert perked up. He twisted around on his knees to face them with a child-like glimmer in his red eyes. Francis noticed this and chuckled, mouth pulled up in a smile.

"Perhaps Gilbert should get to be acquainted with her first? Seems fair." The nurse happily presented the white-haired man with the baby. She instructed him on how to support the infant's head in the crook of his arm to prevent injury to her neck and spent a few minutes with him just to make sure he was doing it right. Then like the doctor she gave Matthew a once-over and left with the promise of returning shortly.

Gilbert remained fixed to his spot on the bed with the child, turned ajar to his friends as he went about inspecting the newborn with a discriminating gaze.

She'd calmed down now, gurgling softly. Her inquisitive gaze seemed intelligent, and, like the curious baby she was she extended a short pudgy arm out from under the blanket to make a reach for the man's spiky white fringe, desperately trying to grab at the hairs. Gilbert took this an opportunity and tugged back the hood of her swaddle to get a better look.

To say the least, he was pleased with what he saw; when he lifted the hand-knitted hat she wore he saw fuzzy flaxen-blonde hair that sprouted like shoots. Her eyes were a deep indigo that were a shade or two off sapphire, and her face was… well, perfect! Cute with soft smooth features. The albino beamed. She bore no apparent physical traits of the bastard that'd truly sired her and instead more closely resembled the one that'd mothered her.

"Can I hold her now?" Alfred whined over the older albino's shoulder only to have France catch him by the back of the collar to pull him back.

"Give them a bit more time." He scolded. In truth Francis wanted to hold his granddaughter as much as the next person, but he was willing to wait his turn for the benefit of not overwhelming her.

Surprisingly though Gilbert swivelled around and held the child out a little for her to be taken. "Y-yeah... here." There was no modesty in Alfred as he came scooting over and swept the baby girl up into his arms with a big goofy grin plastered over his face. The baby girl didn't protest or cry; instead she simply looked up as dark indigo met sky blue, both looking rather bewildered… in a good sort of way.

Whilst Francis continued to softly coo over the child, exclaiming how 'simply adorable' she was and with Alfred claiming that she looked most like him, Gilbert said nothing more on his side. He just sat and looked on with an expression that was hard to place.

He was feeling rather proud. To him that was his baby, no doubt about it. Russia would never be a part of their family equation, not as long as he was here as Matthew's partner.

They sat together in silence, the three of them with Matthew snuggled down in his sheets, plus the baby between them. Matthew never once stirred, still apparently caught helplessly under the effects of the anaesthesia. The half hour spent together seemed to fly by. In fact, Gilbert protested that they hadn't been given long enough!

"I'm not leaving." Gilbert said firmly, anchored to the bedridden boy's side with their baby curled up between them. For now he seemed reasonably placid, the anger kept nicely contained for the sake of Matthew and the baby. Thompson recognised the dark look in the man's terrifyingly red eyes and took a cautious step back.

"Sir, please. We'll take good care of him," The doctor tried to reassure, "Rest and sustenance is important for you as well – you can't very well go without unless you want to get ill."

Gilbert growled defensively. He settled down next to Matthew's side with his arms and chin propped up on the mattress.

"I said I'm not leaving." He repeated. Francis approached quietly and reached for his hand. At once Gilbert turned and slashed back, doubling his attack with a swift kick to the shin – a near miss.

"I'm sorry." Francis muttered to the doctor when Alfred walked away with a darkening bruise to his cheek, having failed to safely remove the white-haired Prussian himself. Thompson ran a hand through his mussed hair, combing it back against his scalp. He sighed, exasperated.

"Please don't be. He must be feeling rather worried for Matthew and the baby, I understand. Given the complications there was a significant chance that we could've lost either at any point." There was a brief silence as the doc turned to see that Gilbert was gently rocking the baby in one arm whilst he playfully brushed back the sleeping blonde's curl. The hair bobbed back and forth from being teased until the Prussian finally left it alone.

Thompson made sure to make eye contact with Francis before speaking again. "There is something we could probably do. For several reasons we don't make this a widely known option for our patients, however since Matthew is confined to a more private and spacious room I'm sure we can make an exception for Prussia to stay here. Matthew may find it more beneficial if he wakes and sees someone familiar around… and it's obvious we're not going to be able to separate them very easily." Francis smile tiredly and nodded. It would certainly help if it meant not having to run around after an agitated albino at home.

"So 'e can stay?"

Thompson nodded. "Just this once. Seeing as Matthew is a Nation I don't see why he can't be discharged after 48 hours, provided he gets plenty of rest for a couple of weeks after to give himself time to heal."

_"Merci beaucoup_. I appreciate it everything you've done for us so far. And I'm sure that when it's all over you'll be glad to see the back of us."

"That wouldn't be a very professional thing to say, Mr Bonnefoy. As a Nation doctor I should take pride in my work – although I've found that you lot are more than what I bargained for, I can't say I regret my time spent working with you all."

"Again, _merci_. Ah… what are the visiting times? _Angleterre_ and the other two will surely want to come. Benjamin would like to meet 'is sister as well, I bet."

Thompson smiled and gestured to the door just as a drag-footed Alfred walked by. "Of course. Visiting hours are 4 to 7pm. If you'd like to come earlier or after you'll have to make arrangements by phone. Now please sir; go home and get some rest. We'll call you if something should happen."

Francis nodded sleepily. He took a moment to fondly gaze back at the happy little family on the bed, taking in the sweet imagery of the three of them nestled closely together. Then he allowed himself to be guided out to begin the long journey back to Arthur's.


	28. Names and Confession

**Fun fact: I originally wanted to name this chapter 'Shit hits the fan' for reasons that may or may not become obvious later =)**

* * *

**Chapter 27:  Names and Confession**

**Date:**** 30th October (October part 3)**

* * *

Matthew licked his lips. After having spent at least a few hours completely 'out of it', his throat and mouth had fallen rather dry and somewhat sticky. He smacked his lips a few more times to try build up a bit of saliva before shuffling up into his pillow, propping himself up using his elbows.

At once a sharp pain drove into his stomach followed by a dull ache that seemed to fade away after a few intense moments. Tensed, Matthew gritted his teeth until then and gingerly settled back down. Where was he…? Where was Gilbert, and where was the nurses and doctor?

The curtain was drawn around the bed giving Matthew his privacy, not that he felt he really needed any. The room was silent with the exception of the hum of the machines to which he barely noticed.

As Matthew became more aware of his surroundings, the events of his difficult labour were starting to piece back together like a hazy jigsaw. He eased himself back up once again, this time taking it nice and slow.

"Gilbert…?" His weary voice barely came out above a whisper. "Gilbert…?" He tried again. No better and still no response. "Gil? Gilbert?" He tried a few more times before drawing in a breath. Nobody was going to hear him. Matthew was still too groggy to put much effort into his voice and felt half tempted to drift back to sleep.

There was the pain in his gut again. Matthew's curiosity drove him to tug the thin white bed sheet that was covering him, revealing the hospital gown that he'd been dressed into after the operation. He pulled the gown back past his legs and stomach where at once he let out a scared whimper at the sight.

Where the surgeon had cut into him just below the naval, his flesh had been stitched up to force the horizontal wound to heal. Even now the wound looked jagged and ugly and there was no doubt that it'd leave an even uglier scar once the stitches were removed... couldn't the surgeon have done a better job...?

Once unmarked and untouched by anyone else… and now… and now three years down the line that same lovely body was a haven of old bruises and scars. Spec-less eyes stared at the pink stretch marks adorning his abdomen where little pockets of fat had formed just below the skin… and if the horror stories were true then no amount of exercise or remedy would be enough to erase those marks and pull him back into shape. He'd always be left with a bit of pudge and a mangled belly.

Running a finger lightly over the sealed wound and shuddering as the contact elicited some pain, Matthew sniffled. The finger travelled further north, tracing what was left of the old discoloured bruises and scars that marked the flank of his throat and collarbone, where he'd been bitten, pinched and scratched from numerous sexual assaults – both good and bad. In particular he felt for a bite on the base of his throat that was still rather tender from his playful antics a few nights before.

Just then the door open from behind the curtain. Startled, Matthew quickly managed to cover his belly before slithering back beneath the covers.

"I don't see what the problem is!" Gilbert?

"I've told you, sir… it just wouldn't be practical." And… was that as well?

"I'm not getting in anyone's way. Jeez… if he's gonna be kept for longer then let me stay. He _needs_ me!"

"We understand, Prussia. But what Matthew needs right now is plenty of bed-rest whilst he recovers from the surgery. A C-section is by no means a small operation… for some human women it can take up to six weeks of recovery before they're sound and able to travel."

"_Mein_ Mattie isn't a women or human! He'll be fine."

"With that attitude he could very well go in the opposite direction. He's a male Nation. We don't know how well he'll react to the same kinds of treatment; we can only hope that it works and he makes a speedier recovery rather than one that drags out or worsens. Thankfully our only fear at the moment is that the poor mite might develop some kind of secondary infection, but so far Matthew seems clear of that."

"What if he does get an infection?"

"I wouldn't worry. In case of that kind of scenario we'll prescribe some antibiotics on top of the painkillers for him to take. Like I've said before, he's a strong boy and the likelihood of developing an infection is relatively low."

As the curtain was suddenly drawn back, shedding some light onto the dark bed, Gilbert and Thompson were revealed.

"Oh? Somebody seems to have woken up all on their own. What a relief." Matthew strained to look at the men, and if it weren't for the wires and tangle of bed sheets it would've been made much easier to do so. Lips pursed, he stared half-blindly in Gilbert's direction.

"Gil…?" He whimpered, confident he'd this time get a response. The white-haired Prussian approached, perching himself on the edge of the bed and petted the boy's hair.

"Hey _liebe_. How ya feeling?"

"Sore." Was his immediate response. Matthew, reassured, sank back into his pillow. "And my stomach hurts." A hand snaked in behind to hold Matthew's head as Gilbert leaned in to plant a sympathetic kiss to his forehead, making it obvious that he didn't give a shit to whether or not he was embarrassing himself in front of Thompson.

"Gilbert…?" He whimpered softly, huddling close.

"I'm here, _schatz_. What's wrong?"

"Gil… where's my baby?" Thompson, who was busy checking Matthew's IV, smiled, speaking up before Gilbert could answer.

"She's in good hands, I can assure you. I'll have a nurse bring her in for you in just a moment, Matthew. First I'd like to check a few things now that you've awoken. Pulse, hydration, all that clinical nonsense. We'll try to be quick."

Matthew was reunited with the baby far sooner then he was lead to believe. A nurse was sent to fetch her from the nursery and so Matthew was granted the chance to hold his newborn whilst the last of the checks were carried out. He barely noticed as he was prodded and shifted about in the bed. Even when the old IV catheter was removed and replaced with a drip he didn't seem to mind. He took no notice as the glass fang of the needle was inserted into his wrist, puncturing the vein and causing blood to flow from the wound at an alarming rate. His ugly body and the ugly wound were long gone from his head, now to have the void instead filled by his daughter's plump pink face.

After much delay Matthew and the baby were able to begin their bonding. He steadied her on his chest using both of his hands to hold her. She was curled up against his chest in the blanket she'd been wrapped in, a tiny hand push to her lips as she sucked her fingers, all the while wearing a darling expression that melted their hearts.

Matthew, like Gilbert before, examined every inch of her. He saw nothing of Russia in her; not her smile, not in her eyes and most certainly not in her cute little button nose. When Ivan smiled there was usually a hint of malice that was enough to unnerve even the hardiest of nations – he remembered the look on Iain's face when Ivan had been discovered in the lounge during the last meeting that they'd all attended. No. This little girl's smile was pure and full of innocence.

"She looks just like you." Gilbert pressed a chastised kiss to the shell of his fiancée's ear. Matthew leaned into Gilbert's shoulder and sighed contently, again without uttering a single word. "Hey, you know what we should do? The world conference is coming up again. We should take her along ~ it'd make that spoilt brat Austria so jealous! The look on his face would be awesome ~"

All Matthew could manage was a small groan of disapproval whilst Gilbert, catching his look, howled with laughter. "N-not this time, Gil."

"It might be a good idea to try and encourage her to nurse now." Thompson reminded them, motioning subtly to attempt breast-feeding. And just for that, the maternity gown Matthew had been dressed in was designed so that the front could be unbuttoned.

Permission granted, Gilbert unpicked the first few buttons of the gown. The fabric brushed against Matthew's skin, tickling him as Gilbert slid the garment down past his shoulder on the right side leaving the nipple exposed. Little coaxing was needed after before the baby girl instinctively followed through and latched on, suckling noisily in an attempt to become satisfied. In her frustration of not getting enough, however, she began to pound her fist weakly against Matthew, soon withdrawing altogether and pushing her head against his chest.

"Milk flow won't be sufficient for a couple of days yet," Thompson explained, scribbling something down on his clipboard as a nurse again tried to tempt the baby into trying again. "Not to worry though. She won't start experiencing actual hunger until then. The nursing is more of a way for the two of you to bond, and it reassures us that she won't have any troubles later."

"So she'll be alright?" Gilbert asked.

"She seems in good health, so yes. I'm certain there won't be any problems in terms of getting her to feed. Our staff will monitor both of you for the first few times just to make sure though. Consult them if either of you have any worries." Gilbert nodded. He soon requested that they be left alone with the baby for a little while. Of course with all the checks over and done with, the doctor and nurses eventually left. Gilbert drew the curtain and clambered up onto the bed next to Matthew. It was a tight squeeze, with the Canadian nearly laying on top of his lover. However Gilbert was good and considerate, remembering to keep a firm hold as he hugged the Canadian and child close, adding to the feeling of security.

Matthew nuzzled the top of the baby's head when she took the nipple again, this time gumming the teat and mewling softly until she was more comfortable.

"What're we gonna call her?" Gilbert murmured into his hair as Matthew snuggled closer. "We gotta pick something awesome for her, y'know. Like… what about Alex? Or West said something about 'Chloe'. I like Alex though ~"

Matthew fidgeted slightly, holding back a small gasp when the infant gummed a tender teat a bit too hard. As Matthew repositioned a hand across the back of the baby's blonde head, a shimmer of red and silver drew Gilbert's attention to the ring that adorned the young nation's finger. This reignited smugness in the Cheshire cat grin that was quickly growing across the albino's face, obviously delighting in the thought of his future marriage to the darling Canadian.

"Mm… Actually Gilbert… I kinda like 'Colleen'."

"Colleen?"

Matthew hummed. "Mm. Iain suggested it once, even after he said he didn't want to help with names. He told me that it's a popular name in Ireland and Scotland."

Matthew had to be kidding. "Kesesese ~ you're kidding, right?"

"N-no… I'm serious. What's wrong with 'Colleen'?"

Now normally Gilbert was a very doting nation. He'd always been rather enthusiastic about Matthew, being there when he needed it most and taking care of him through the more difficult times, and passionate when life called for it. As their bond strengthened over time Gilbert found it harder and harder to deny the Canadian of anything.

So when he set his gaze upon the dead serious look on Matthew's face Gilbert gingerly accepted defeat. While uncharacteristic, Matthew could be fairly pushy when he wanted things his way. "There's nothing wrong with it. Alright schatz, Colleen it is."

Newly graced with her new name, Colleen soon fell right back asleep in her papa's arms, satisfied and sleepy, hiccupping gently. The two nations kissed then, relishing in each other's warmth as Gilbert wound his arms around Matthew's shoulders and tugged him and the baby closer, a slender sock-less foot entwining itself around the blonde's line a creeping vine in a subtle gesture of possession. By this time Matthew was sleepy once more. The closeness they shared made the albino's stomach flutter but nevertheless he managed to contain his libido, affectionately stroking the sandy blonde locks until Matthew once again closed his eyelids.

* * *

**Date:**** 2nd November**

* * *

The next few days went rather smoothly, to say the least.

The family had visited everyday although Arthur, now being so heavily pregnant, had been made to stay at home on all occasions with Benjamin and Iain or Francis to rest. Arthur insisted he was fine though.

The news of the baby spread like wildfire amongst the nations. The date of the upcoming conference was used as an excuse for those who cared to arrive early just so they could stop in the hospital with a small gift. Due to the discrete nature of Matthew's situation beforehand, very few nations realised that the baby was no child of Gilbert's. As such, they happily accepted that she was without question. Funnily enough though, even with all of his newfound attention nobody had noticed the pretty engagement ring that adorned Matthew's finger – or at least no-one mentioned it.

On the day of Matthew's planned homecoming Francis came to the hospital with the car. He and Gilbert packed everything Matthew had into the trunk. Then once the baby was safely secured in her carrier in the back they all bundled into the car, Gilbert accompanying the two blondes in the back.

Excitement dominated the conversation during the drive back. That morning Gilbert had received a call from his brother and so was expecting Ludwig and Feli to be at the house awaiting their homecoming, though according to Francis neither had been there when he left. Whilst discussion about tomorrow's meeting was also big on the minds of the older two nations, Matthew was more concerned about jumping back into a nice warm bed.

"I can't wait to lie back down. To be honest I think those beds at the hospital did more bad than good. My stomach still kinda hurts though."

"Good thing they gave you those pain meds then, huh?"

"We'll be back soon, _cher_," Francis replied smiling into the rear-view mirror as he drove carefully along the narrow country lanes back up to the mansion. "A few more minutes. Kumajiro and Benjamin will be glad to see you too."

"Mm. I feel like I haven't seen him for months." Matthew leaned into Gilbert and nestled his cheek against his shoulder and closed his violet eyes as if to fall asleep. Gilbert responded simply in a welcoming manner by squeezing his arm behind and wrapping it around the boy's waist, fingers slipping beneath Matthew's hoodie and shirt to rest on his belly just above where the C-section wound was stitched.

As a nation Matthew would heal far quicker than any ordinary human. However, he was still under strict instruction by the doctors that until the wound healed and the stitches removed he was forbidden to pull his weight around the house. To name a few things, Matthew had been told that he must rest and should refrain from lifting and carrying anything heavier than his newborn, and he was advised to avoid repeated journeys up and down the stairs to reduce the strain on his abdominals. Before getting discharged Gilbert and Francis had been asked to consider Matthew's emotional state as well; it was still a very delicate time for him where anything could still go wrong.

Matthew had been reluctant at first to allow Gilbert to see his stitches. The big ugly wound that reflected his hormone-induced feelings only made him feel worse about it, even more so when he couldn't seem to get over it. The worry and stress brought from the idea only made matters worse when he finally had an emotional break-down the day before, straight after when he decided to finally reveal himself. As well as pretending, Gilbert was rather good at making the tears disappear. The wound was no longer as sore as it'd been so between cajoling words of comfort the Prussian had lovingly petted the stomach, denying softly that there was even a wound to begin with. Predictably, Matthew forced himself to believe those sweet words. Since sex was out of the question as well, making out was the most intimate they could go in terms of expressing their love.

Gilbert buried his nose into the sandy locks, taking the time to inhale Matthew's scent. An arm squeeze gently to reassure himself that the other was still here with him. Matthew responded by quietly rubbing his cheek against the shoulder it laid upon. Happily, a smile pressed his lips.

"Keep your eyes on the road, Francis." Said Frenchman snapped his gaze from the perfect view he had in the rear view mirror and back to the road with a soft chuckle, slowing the vehicle just in time to see a rabbit scamper across to the hedge opposite.

Very little else was said for the rest of the journey. Assuming Gilbert and Matthew were asleep, Francis softly hummed a few verses to baby Colleen until they pulled up in the gravelled drive of the house. Gilbert and Matthew slowly came back to life as the engine was switched off; their eyes cracked open as the car jostled once more, their limbs uncoiling from one another after a moment's pause.

Francis leaned forward on the steering wheel as the other two began to collect themselves. Prussia, who was sat in-between the baby and Matthew, scooted past the carrier and opened the door. Then he moved around the back of the car and helped a weakened Matthew out, being sure to hold his hand lest he accidently catch his foot and fall flat on his face. Then once Matthew was standing safely outside the car he returned for the baby. Francis too got out. He decided to come back for Matthew's belongings in a little while, knowing they'd be fine in the trunk until then. Happy, the family then made their way to the front door.

Francis found it odd that nobody had come outside to greet them. He expected Alfred at the very least to come flying at them with an eager Arthur in tow, yet they saw neither. Not even Kumajiro. Nevertheless, Francis opened the door up and ushered them inside with a cheery call of, "We're 'ome ~"

They heard something coming from the kitchen, like the scraping of one of the chairs on the tiled floor followed by the quickened footsteps of someone running down to meet them.

"Ve ~ Germany, they're here ~ _Ciao!_" Like a bat out of hell Italy came charging down the hall, England's old cat clutched tightly and swinging in his arms.

Another familiar head popped round the kitchen door as Germany too made an appearance. "Feliciano…" He sounded stern though as soon as he saw the Italy excitedly greeting his brother and company his expression relaxed into a gentler smile.

"Hey West! I didn't think you guys were coming until later." As the taller blonde approached, Francis made sure to skedaddle right on out of the way, still rather mindful of the powerful German.

"Italy insisted that ve come immediately so ve called a taxi to bring us from the hotel."

"I'll go and make some tea and coffee." He said before slipping into the kitchen.

Feliciano allowed the old cat to leap from his arms as he took Matthew's hands in his own, his bright chestnut eyes jumping with excitement. "We were playing with Benjamin a little while ago, right Germany?" Gilbert couldn't help but snigger at the mental image of the macho blonde playing games with the likes of Italy, let alone with his own infant nephew.

"Pfft… really West? I thought it was only Feli you had a soft spot for ~?" Ludwig's quickly reddening face was proof enough to the blonde's soft nature. The younger German sighed when he knew there was no point into trying to deny his affections and no doubt Gilbert would taunt him for it for the rest of the day - already the albino was beginning to fit with laughter.

Feliciano beamed, looking positively joyful. He too giggled a little before turning back to Matthew.

"Erm… Italy?"

"_Si_ ~?"

"W-where is Benjamin?" Italy's eyes popped open.

"Oh! He's in the garden with Kumajiro and mister Wales and America ~"

"W-what about Iain and Arthur?"

"Hm? Oh! England got too tired to play with us so Mister Scotland took him upstairs for a siesta… but now that I think about it he hasn't come back down yet."

Feliciano stooped to coo over Colleen leaving Matthew to wonder if Arthur was okay, and if not... why was Alfred not up there with him? Come to think of it Alfred had really been neglecting Arthur from what he'd heard.

It was only a matter of time before they decided to congregate in living room with all but the eldest and youngest Kirklands at their side.

"He's so big now… it's kinda hard to believe he's the same baby from when we first saw him!" Italy chimed once Benjamin was settled in Matthew's arms, quietly sucking his thumb. Matthew laid back against the sofa with a contented sigh. Francis had recently brought in a tray of refreshments but was now seated on the armchair with the tiny newborn cradled in his strong arms.

"I-I haven't noticed…"

"You've been around him for so long so it'd be natural to not notice any growth." Germany pointed out. Very gently Matthew bumped Gilbert with his hip prompting the older man to put an arm around him. The family broke into several conversations; Francis spoke with Ludwig regarding the plans for the next conference which happened to be taking place in a couple of days, discussing possible alternatives for Matthew and Arthur who they both knew would need somebody to take care of them.

Then there was Alfred who'd brought some candy left from his yearly Halloween raid from a couple nights ago. Matthew sucked a lollipop whilst he listened to his brother chatter with an amused look as Alfred went onto explaining how he'd challenged Dylan to the annual 'Halloween scare-fest' that he usually held with Arthur… and ultimately lost yet again.

Apparently the Welshman was no fool for fake blood whilst the great 'hero' Alfred had (unsurprisingly) fallen to a poorly constructed bed-sheet ghoul with an arm in a sling. The American was sure to leave that detail out until Dylan decided to mention it, leaving a brightly blushing Alfred feeling rather embarrassed whilst Gilbert and Matthew shared the amusing moment together. If it had been any other time Alfred would've tackled his brother to the ground, there and then just to shut him up.

Things calmed down after a couple of hours. Outside the winter sun had set beyond the city-scape horizon, casting a long black shadow over the countryside. London was glowing faintly in the dusk like an enormous beacon as the many thousands of lights from the buildings and streetlamps lit up. Heavy black clouds rolled in overhead, and with it came the drizzle the country was so notorious for.

When the first fat drops of rain blotted the living room window the television was switched on. Alfred seized the remote before Dylan, leading to a petty squabble.

Amongst the ruckus of the two childish nations, Feliciano and Francis left for the kitchen to prepare an early dinner, deciding loudly between them whether to have a meal of pasta and wine (Italy's choice, naturally) or a fresh vegetable soup with potato croutons and crusty baguette.

Matthew and Gilbert had been nattering back and forth to one another, softly mind as not to disturb the children that had fallen asleep in their arms. Ludwig had just settled down with his nose buried in one of Iain's horror novels when he noticed the owner of the book standing of his vision in the doorway.

It took a moment before Ludwig tore his gaze from the page he was on and long still before anyone else noticed.

"You look like shit." Gilbert commented. He wasn't trying to be nasty or start something… but it was the truth. Iain did look pretty rotten. He was dressed only in red gingham pyjama pants that so perfectly complimented his fiery red hair and acidic green eyes, thus revealing a rather solidly built body that, though not quite as muscular as Germany, looked rather capable.

Rather than going to knock one of the albino's teeth loose Iain lingered at the doorway rubbing at his messy red hair and chin where a deeply obvious beard was beginning to grow. Iain wasn't one to care much for personal grooming so it wasn't uncommon to see him looking a bit shabby beyond his usual ruggedness from time to time.

He managed to bypass acknowledging Matthew and Colleen for now though he was very much aware that they were here. He stole glances of the precious child with a flicker of his eyes as he pretended to look around the room. Was he supposed to feel gratified that Matthew had chosen his name above all others? Was he supposed to thank Matthew…? Iain didn't know.  
All he knew was that the baby was no longer any of his business and he should refrain from interfering wherever possible unless he was asked.

Iain scanned the room for potential scapegoat for his build-up of mental frustration. Ah, Alfred. He was the perfect target – plus after spending all day upstairs trying to comfort Arthur he had reason to be pissed off at the Yank.

"Alfred, get off yer fat lazy arse an' go an' see to Arthur already." The offended nation turned, frowning.

"I'm not fat… and I thought he was asleep?"

Iain snorted at the naivety. "Barely. Ye think I'd spend all my time up there if he were just sleepin'? Fuck me, yer dumb." He nearly laughed as the last words left his lips, relishing the sight of seeing Alfred pout. "Some fuckin' hero yew are."

"I am too a hero!"

"Oi Iain, don't ya think ya going a bit far there?"

Iain's face split into a shit-eating grin as he continued to enjoy taunting Alfred with a scoff, disbelieving that Dylan might actually be trying to defend Alfred. "Too far? Too fuckin' far?! Yer havin' a fuckin' laugh! The stupid bastards been ignoring our brother for weeks. I betcha he won't take responsibility for the kid either, lazy shit."

Germany closed the book up and set it aside. Tension was rising and the large man prepared himself to leap up and pull any opposing threat, be it Iain or Alfred.

Alfred was uncomfortable under the gaze of the room's tenants, but he struck out boldly. "Who the hell do you think you are? And… and I'm gonna be there as often as I can for them."

Iain wasn't fooled, nor did the grin falter as he warmed to his work. "Ye hesitated."

"I didn't!"

"Aye, ye did. What, ye gonna ditch poor sweet Artie at first chance?"

"No!"

"Aye ~ Yer gonna abandon him because ye know someone else will take care of him if yew don't. Listen here, arsehole; kids don't come with instructions. Expecting Arthur to just 'get on with it' ain't gonna go down well with anybody."

Alfred bit his lip. He had hesitated. He couldn't help it though. He knew he wasn't the greatest at looking after others, hell, according to Arthur he could barely look after himself. And for weeks now he'd dwelled on the idea that he'd make a terrible father… and for weeks more he'd allowed his fear to fester and gradually manifest.

Iain yawned without a care for the hurt American. He still held plenty of recognition and care for his youngest brother, and so whilst Alfred had lost his confidence to deal with children Iain's had grown. In fact, one observing might even suggest that the Scot was getting rather possessive of the Englishman.

Plus he still felt angry. Angry because Matthew was no longer his to comfort or enjoy. He was pissed off and downright set on the fact Alfred had told and persuaded Matthew to dump him – he'd already told Iain to do so several months before only to get the demand rejected. But Iain, however upset he was with Matthew, couldn't bring his anger out on him and of course he couldn't touch Gilbert anymore. So bringing the next best thing down seemed totally acceptable to him. Destroy the one responsible for getting him involved in the first place and then burn what was left of his moral until he was happy that 'justice' had been done.

"Hey Alfie," Iain began, his softened voice dripping with venom. "Why don't ye tell wee Matthew the truth? Tell him about the little deal we made back in March... the one where ye paid me to fulfil a few duties?"

Alfred quickly looked to his brother in time to see him frown. "Alfred, what's he talking about?"

"Yes Alfred. Do tell." All eyes were drawn to the door as Arthur emerged from behind his brother, seemingly from nowhere. Iain had been the slowest to react, as though it'd been planned for Arthur to make an appearance. The Englishman's red-tinged cheeks glistened from the thin veil of sweat that covered them making kind of obvious that he wasn't feeling 100%. Smug-face, Iain stepped to the side and slung an arm around Arthur's shoulders, forcing him closer whilst also providing a means of support.

"Arthur. Good timing. Yer shit-for-brains boyfriend was about to tell us all something very important. An' if he don't, I will." Alfred's lip quivered. He didn't expect to find himself in this kind of predicament nor did he know how he was going to get himself out of it - totally unhero-like. But... on reflection he realised that he hadn't done his brother any favours by lying either. Things had (kind of) turned out better than he'd originally planned so was there really any harm done?

Ludwig felt rather awkward sitting there when the family obviously had something to settle. He willed silently for Italy to call him into the kitchen for whatever reason but with no such luck. Dylan didn't share this feeling. Although he always found himself standing between the opposing arguments in a fight to try and even them out he was finding himself to be rather dubious of the American.

"What did 'e do, Scot?"

"Yeah," Gilbert agreed, eager to rally a response. "I want to know what the jackass did as well. Don't you, Birdie?" Matthew's silence was taken as a 'yes'.

Iain chuckled deeply. He gave Arthur's outside arm a little pat before deciding to finally put everyone's mind at ease.

"Well then Alfred. I think I'll tell them then... do ye mind? No? Alright then." He cleared his throat before speaking in a softer tone. "Now let's rewind back to the beginning, shall us? Dipshit over there-" he pointed to Alfred with his free hand, crouching until he was level with Arthur's head. "-Was worried that Russia might just try to pull some kind of shit on Matthew. So ye never guess what! He paid me to make sure nothing happened of the sort! An' then when Alfie decided he'd had enough - ah, this where ye come in, bright-eyes -" he flashed a taunting grin at Gilbert. "-When the Yankee-doodle decided to cut the contract short... well, it was a bit too late. Bastard stopped payin' me but I stayed 'cause I had the decency to try an' at least finish what was started. Now then, any questions?"

* * *

**A/N:** **This took too long. Y'know, I don't think I'll go much further with this story. Probably 3 or 4 (shorter) chapters more or 1 or 2 (longer) chapters and then I think I'll call it quits (how many times have I said that, eh? XD )**

**Ivan will likely make one last appearance... maybe not. Got any ideas or questions? Shoot me a PM.**

**Comments and crit always welcome, especially where I could improve (I hate my style of writing so any ideas/help...?)**


	29. Je t'aime tellement, Angleterre

**Chapter 28:****Je t'aime tellement****, Angleterre**

**Date:**** 2nd November (November part 2)**

* * *

Iain stood straight and smirked a rather darkly at Alfred. Arthur glared on, however the illusion of the short blonde being menacing was broken as soon as one were to glance down at his heavy pregnant belly.

"Alfred… how… why would you…?" Arthur spoke when no-one else would, though he was just as muddled as everyone else, if not more. Left flustered by a slight fever Arthur was unable to think as clearly.

"'Cuz he's scum of the earth. Just a damn selfish brat who doesn't want to know."

"That's not true!"

Matthew knew very well that Iain had planted the seeds that would ultimately grow up into some sort of mini-war. He had a firm knowledge of what the Scotsman was like, how he was likely upset about something and needed someone or something to vent at… and apparently Alfred sufficed.

"Why am I not surprised that you'd try to sabotage us?" Gilbert sneered, he too rising to the occasion. Alfred cringed against the older German's blood-red gaze.

"It wasn't like I was trying to," Alfred paused for a moment, as though trying to come up with a valid excuse for his own actions. "What else is a hero supposed to do? If Russia had been given the chance he would've come and kidnapped Matt. He's nearly done it twice in the past eight months. When you asked me to try and get Iain to back off, I tried… a-and hey, nobody really got hurt, did they?"

"Nobody? What about me, asshole? Instead of letting us get back together you convinced Arthur's chaining-smoking booze-psycho brother to look after him instead of me! What the hell were you thinking?"

"G-Gilbert…" Matthew grabbed the sleeve of his fiancée's shirt when he noticed the smugness vanish from Iain's face.

"What'd yew say? Wanna repeat that for me, Sunshine?"

"Oh I'm sorry. Is 'Nessie's bitch' any better?" As soon as the words left his lips, Gilbert found himself recoiling back into the couch cushion, arms tightening around the newborn baby defensively.

Iain approached the white-haired man, lip curled into a fierce sneer. "Ye know if ye try an' start somethin' with me yer only gonna end up hurt." From the corner of his eye Iain noticed Ludwig tense in his seat at the incoming threat.

Iain dropped down to one knee. His lips again contorted, twisting into a crooked smile that he licked with the tip of his tongue. "What the fuck's so great about this shit?" He asked Matthew, the crazed look in his eyes once again turning gentle… sad. It was like Matthew was the key to Iain's docility and keeping him that way.

Bewildered and left speechless Matthew didn't gratify Iain with a response, and instead he scooted even closer, burying his nose into Gilbert's arm and safely slotting Benjamin between them.

"Iain," Arthur started firmly, "Leave them be. Neither of them have done anything wrong. If you must, take up any quarrel you might have with Alfred, seeing as he seems to be at the root of everyone's problems tonight."

Iain withdrew obediently without another word though not before giving Alfred a quick look as though he were going to take up Arthur's offer. Then he took one last quick look around the lounge with a look satisfaction of his deed before slinking out and up the stairs after Arthur, who'd departed in a state of near-tears.

When they were gone, Alfred hunched his shoulders and forced himself to look at floor where he began to fiddle with the assortment of discarded Halloween candy wrappers that lay there.

Dylan and Ludwig exchanged glances momentarily, as if uncertain to where they stood in the current situation. By this point both felt rather awkward and were left wondering to whether or not they were supposed to have intervened earlier.

Finally the buff blonde German stood up, cleared his throat and announced his excuse. "Ahm… I think I vill check on how dinner is going. I von't be long. Excuse me."

Nobody said anything to try and call him back. Gilbert was still accusingly glaring at Alfred, wondering how the American could really be such a selfish fuck whilst Matthew peeked out from behind his shoulder. Alfred was too busy scowling at the sweet wrappers to really notice his audience. Like the stubborn child he knew he wasn't Alfred refused to admit to any fault in his deeds. He'd done it all for the benefit of his brother and the kids. How could that be called selfish? And now he was likely to be in trouble with Arthur too, not to mention France when he was told.

Garnet eyes finally turned away as Gilbert muttered something to Matthew. Matthew nodded before his fiancée carefully gathered up the sleeping newborn – taking great care to keep her head supported in the crook of his arm – and turned to Dylan.

"Oi, help me put the kids to bed. Matt wants to talk to fatass." One could not simply ignore such an impolite name. Subsequently Alfred's brittle aloofness was shattered.

"Hey!"

Dylan was grateful for this window of escape and took Benjamin. Then together he and the white-haired German walked from the lounge and upstairs, totally silent.

"Matt… I didn't mean anything bad by this. You know I didn't." Alfred said once they were alone. He hid a shameful look as he drew his knees to his chin. In Arthur's absence he was used to getting scolded by his baby brother but this time he knew Matthew was dead serious, and rather than protest he should shut the hell up and listen.

Matthew shifted in his seat. He took a throw pillow and held it in his empty arms, hugging it gently to his belly which was beginning to hurt again as the pain meds he took a few hours before were beginning to wear. "Alfred. Alfred, do you know how much you put us through? And… no, forget about me for a moment. I want you to think about Iain. You toyed with him. You told him to take care of me, which that alone is a difficult task. Then because of you he got possessive over me and Benjamin. You weren't here when he beat up Gilbert that time, like he was some sort… s-some sort of thug!" Matthew recalled the time when he'd been forced to stand back as Iain pummelled the Prussian after he'd accidently hurt their son. He remembered Iain's anger, how he had approached a beaten-down Gilbert with a rolling-pin… Matthew had to shake his head with his eyes squeezed firmly shut just to force himself to forget for now.

"I didn't tell him to stop seeing you because I wanted to piss him off! I was doing it as a favour for Gilbert, y'know? Iain didn't seem to care much about you to start with, just in it for the money. I didn't expect him to want to stay."

"Actions will always have consequences, Alfred. On this occasion you did a lot more harm than good." Matthew could tell Alfred was getting worked up, in a bad way. His big baby-blue eyes were welling up to breaking point, and his bottom lip was left badly bitten and trembling. Usually when Alfred did something wrong it was accepted and let go by the passive Canadian. However, when Matthew did happen to tell off his brother it was usually very harsh – in some cases it was enough to make the other cry. Matthew didn't want that. Especially when he knew he was likely already in trouble with Gilbert and Arthur as well, and perhaps Francis although he thought his papa's involvement would be unlikely. When it came to scolding their 'children', Francis and Arthur often kept to their respective charges.

Fortunately for Alfred Matthew had nor the stamina or emotional strength to continue, nor deliver the punishment.

Instead the younger blonde sighed. "Alfred… come here." Open arms were a comforting sight for Alfred right now. Hesitating only a moment, a doe-eyed Alfred clambered up onto the couch and slumped into the embrace with a sniffle. Minding his still-sore stomach, Matthew wrapped his arms around his brother in a meaningful hug, one to let him know that all was forgiven – although a sharp squeeze reminded Alfred that he shouldn't try it again, ever, and that the forgiveness was valid only with Matthew. He still had to face the rest of the household.

Alfred smushed his face into Matthew's shoulder to try and stifle the embarrassing sniffs that stopped the snot from leaking out of his nose.

"'M s'rry." He mumbled, choking back a hiccup.

"Heroes don't cry." Matthew teased as they pulled away from the hug at their pace. "Cry baby."

Alfred puffed out his red, tear-stained cheeks. "I'm not a baby."

"You'd be more convincing if your face wasn't so wet." The pair of them smiled, happy to be once again on good terms with one another. Matthew was certain Gilbert would cool off eventually. He had every right to be upset, but did he still have any reason to now that they were together and engaged? Matthew sure as hell hoped not. He really hoped that this didn't change anything, either.

"I-I think I need to see Arthur now." Alfred said once he was feeling a little better, wiping the remnants of his tears on the back of his sleeve.

"You don't say, eh? You really haven't been spending much time with him lately… are you scared?"

"W-what? Me, scared? Pfft, no way! Heroes-"

"Then what? Alfred, Arthur's having a baby soon and so far I've seen you spend next to no time with him. Did you guys break up or something?"

"No!"

"…Are you thinking about breaking up?"

Alfred hesitated. "…N-no, of course not. It's just… what if he doesn't want me around while the kid's growing up?"

"Why'd he want that?"

"I dunno." Alfred scooted back into the couch, still looking rather sorry for himself. "He just hasn't been the same."

"In what way?" Alfred was too embarrassed by this point to admit that he hadn't had sex for nearly four months. And he liked to think the relationship was going somewhere with Arthur, though with his voluntary lack of involvement and now Arthur's knowing of his 'contract' with Iain, he knew there were bound to be consequences. However, instead of simply admitting to his worries, Alfred just shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. He then feigned happiness to try and put his brother off, knowing that it was in Matthew's nature not to pry.

"Eh… doesn't matter. Forget I said anything."

* * *

Meanwhile upstairs, Iain was standing inside Arthur's bedroom with his ear placed against the closed door. He listened intently through the wood for Gilbert and Dylan, as still as a stone statue until he heard them descend the stairs once more after bedding the children.

The ensuite toilet flushed and out waddled Arthur, clutching at his stomach and looking rather pale. He mumbled something as he made his way over to the window, deciding he needed to get some cool air circulating inside the warm room. He'd blanked Alfred from his mind, feeling too much like crap to want to try and comprehend his current relationship as he began to seriously doubt that his child would be growing up in a steady two-parent relationship.

A strong wintery gust blew into the room as Arthur opened the window. He sighed in content and perched himself on the low sill, a hand rubbing gentle circles over his belly. By now it'd gotten much darker out. The moon had yet to make an appearance with the sky was still thick with the rain clouds from earlier's downpour. Arthur turned his attention to the distant glow of London's lights as the window panes strained and creaked audibly under the wind's pressure.

Neither brother spoke. Arthur had nothing to say and Iain didn't feel like it. The Scotsman felt as though he'd done the right thing – he'd never really been too keen on Alfred, especially not after the revolution in which he'd been left to pick up the remaining shards that were all but left of Arthur's defeat. And after Alfred's apparent disinterest… the bastard deserved it. Iain couldn't stand seeing one of his youngest brother in any sort of emotional pain.

With a sigh, Arthur reached his hands to his lower back to press on it. The pains from the weight in front were murder on his lower back, and secretly he hoped that this nuisance wouldn't persist once the baby was born.

Then there was the frequent bathroom breaks that irritated and embarrassed him so. The fact that he had a baby nearly sitting on his bladder was one thing – it couldn't be helped – but the fact that he thought he'd hear someone giggling or whispering as he left with a watchful brother or Francis in tow was what made him feel so subconscious about it. He'd already managed to wet the bed several times because he simply couldn't wake up in time during the night, much to his embarrassment. Half the time it made him want to cry.

Arthur laid himself back on the bed, using his arms to cushion his weight as he settled down. A sharp tweak in his stomach made him jounce in his seat. Iain sat himself down on the bed right next to Arthur. Over the past week or so their increased alone time doubled as bonding sessions for the two brothers and helped Iain to push Matthew and his little family to the back of his mind. As such, seeing Arthur so uncomfortable and sore distressed Iain somewhat… and for the first time in many a year, the big brother switch in Iain's mind had been activated.

He slung an arm around his shoulders and pulled Arthur in where he just about managed to prop his chin on the head of dirty-blonde hair.

"How ye holdin' up?" He asked, deliberately letting his voice drop into a mutter. Arthur didn't respond.

"Yer not upset with me, are ye? Look, it wasn't my idea. I just did it to see that Matt would come out all right."

"He would've been fine. You only got in the way and prevented Prussia from patching things up sooner."

"…Be that as it may, I thought I could do better… an' I did, didn't I?" Lost in his thoughts, Iain began to gently tassel strands of blonde hair between his fingers whilst Arthur remained pressed against his bare upper body without much complaint – but looks could be deceiving.

The once rare and tender moment was cut short when they heard a slow knocking on the door and Alfred's voice call out on the other side. "Arthur, can I come in?"

"Fuck off." Iain's response was immediate but he wasn't the one Alfred wanted to hear it from. Arthur looked away.

"Go away _America_."

"Arth-"

"Ye heard him, Yank. Scram!"

"Actually Iain I don't particularly want to be around you either right now. Please... please, just leave me alone." Arthur managed to drag himself away from Iain and off the bed. Then, grabbing his dressing gown on the way he headed to the door and opened it.

From his upset earlier Alfred's eyes were red and slightly puffy. Texas was sitting askew on his nose and the cute little cowlick bobbed as the American took a step back. He caught Iain's expression over Arthur's shoulder, and somehow, although he was just as unwanted at this moment, he felt some meagre sense of satisfaction.

"Arthur… I'm-" Arthur didn't want to hear. As soon as the American opened his mouth the man waddled off towards the stairs and began to descend. Alfred followed closely whilst a defeated Iain just stood wordlessly at the door.

"You're gonna hurt yourself if you keep up that pace." Alfred softly said to Arthur as he pursued him to the bottom. "I know you're upset but can't we talk?"

"No." Arthur hesitated once he reached the ground floor, looking between heading to the lounge, the study or the kitchen. He chose the latter and started towards it, simply because it was where the delicious aroma of dinner was wafting from.

"Why're you being so difficult? I'm sorry. I thought having your brother around was the best thing to do… Matt forgave me so why can't you?"

Arthur snorted. He came to an abrupt halt and whipped round to face Alfred, red-face and frowning, eyebrows knitted into a tight V-shape. "Oh really? Rather than fulfilling your unofficial duty as his big brother you decided it'd be easier and more heroic to hire my own brother instead of protecting him yourself. Is that it?" Arthur paused a moment to see if he'd answer. He didn't, so the fiery Englishman pressed on. "You can't use the excuse that you were too busy trying to help me through the past fucking year, can you? No. A-after that goddamn business trip in the summer y-you've been avoiding me… and only then you've b-been st-sticking with your brother. Sure, you like children but clearly you've got commitment issues when it comes down to actually being a father. Do you really dislike the fact that for the next twenty years I'll be tied down with a dependent child?"

"Babe, calm down-"

"I will _not_ fucking calm down!" Tears cascaded down the sides Arthur's flushed cheeks, his moss-green eyes ablaze with all of the emotion he could muster. His voice cracked and the more wound up he made himself the closer he tumbled towards the edge of hysteria. "It's a bloody good job I can take care of myself now, isn't it? B-but a baby? A young colonial nation is one thing, a human child is another. A-and I can't d-do it…! " Arthur brutally shouldered a speechless Alfred aside when he attempted to make amends by hugging him before he buried his face in his hands to try and muffle the whimpering hiccupping sounds that he made.

Again Alfred tried to get his arms around him only to be squarely struck in the eye by the agitated Arthur, sending Texas flying. "Don't touch me!" Without even turning for his specs, Alfred backed up a step. "Don't fucking touch me y-you selfish, st-stupid wanker!" Alfred couldn't touch him. Alfred couldn't comfort him. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He looked around the hallway as if he expected to find the answer just lying around on the floor somewhere.

Francis and Italy were peering out from behind the kitchen door. Francis muttered something to the Italian who quickly retreated out of sight, the face he made before disappearing being that of despair as from behind the door he heard him call for Germany.

Arthur had become vaguely aware of his new audience and so proceeded to try and escape down the hallway back to the staircase, trembling and taking quick breaths that indicated that he was dangerously close to hyperventilating. Eventually, though, he started to hear the soft call of someone near to him.  
"Stop being so silly. We got babies sleepin' upstairs, yanno?"

When Dylan wrapped his good arm around him Arthur whimpered and tried to pull away at first, then suddenly reversed and clung to his big brother, sobbing hysterically into his chest.

Once he managed to guide Arthur back upstairs, Dylan was quick to note that Iain was absent, so the Welshman tucked Arthur. Then he brought him a glass of cool water from the kitchen and a bundle of toilet paper to use as a disposable hanky.

That night Alfred was banned from going back upstairs to visit Arthur. Dylan zipped back and forth instead, bringing Arthur his supper of vegetable stew, as well as some pasta if he preferred, and a cup of warm milk. Without his brother's encouragement he refused to eat, and in the end even Dylan lost patience and gave up, taking the dishes downstairs.

Recently showers had been the norm for the Englishman, however for tonight Dylan figured that Arthur was better off relaxing in a nice warm bubble bath. He poured whatever essential oils and suds he could find under the running tap and waited until it was a comfortable temperature before fetching Arthur, hoping that the rich aroma of lavender and camomile would help to relax him all ready for bed. Once Arthur was settled in the water he went downstairs to the kitchen.

"'Ow is 'e?" Francis asked Dylan as the other helped himself to a biscuit from the biscuit tin.

"He's calmed down a bit since earlier, and I managed to get a bit of food inside him though all that crying's gone and given him one hell of a headache. Still got a bit of a temperature too so I'm gonna bring him up a bit of medicine. Where's Scotty?"

Looking rather grave, Francis turned back to drying the dishes whilst Germany washed. Gilbert gestured to the backdoor with his head. "He's out there having a smoke. He's been out there since dinner."

"Sulking, no doubt. Arthur told me what he said to him." Dylan sighed, popping the last of the biscuit in his mouth before he began to search for a few things take back upstairs.

For the little fever Arthur had Dylan pulled out the bottle of grape-flavoured medicine and shoved it under his arm before fishing out a spoon. To help get out the terribly bitter aftertaste of the medication, a glass of juice was poured.

"'As Arthur mentioned Amérique?"

"I would rather that he doesn't think about him right about now. I'm pretty pissed off at the Yank and Scot myself."

"Are you making 'im sleep on the couch?"

"He's gonna have to if Arthur doesn't want him. We don't need any more tears tonight… although I can't help but feel that Arthur might've been overreacting." Dylan gathered up his things, scarcely managing to balance holding everything in his one good arm. Then, at a leisurely pace he pottered back upstairs.

When he arrived back into the bedroom he was surprised to see Arthur already out of the tub and dressed in clean pyjamas, apparently feeling better. After much debate Dylan was allowed to administer a tablespoon of the grossly off-purple medicinal syrup.

Of course Arthur protested that it made him feel even worse so Dylan pulled out a mail-order furniture catalogue to help distract his brother from the foul taste, made worse by the juice he drank after.

Adamant that he'd need a smaller more manageable living space to raise his child, Arthur had inquired about a two-bedroom apartment in central London several weeks before. Once given the okay by the apartment complex landlord, Dylan was sent out to place the deposit, and now the elder brother had been enlisted to help pick out some tasteful modern furniture to fill the new residence.

Nobody else knew of Arthur's plan to move into the city, nor did they know where the exact location was. He planned to keep it that way until he was good and ready, wanting to lower the possibility of having the likes of Alfred or Francis turning up on his doorstep when the blonde Brit decided that he and his newborn would be moving in alone.

"What about this one?" Dylan pointed to a particular cot in the catalogue. "Nice wooden frame. Doesn't look like it'll be too complicated ta set up, right? And ya could paint it ta match the room if ya wanted." Arthur rolled his shoulders.

"It's alright, I s'pose." That was enough for Dylan, who scribbled the number of the item under a 'maybe' section on the scrap of paper he had. "I'll order these all up in tha morning for ya. What colour paint do ya want me ta get for tha baby's room?"

"The room could always be decorated after the baby is born." Arthur said, shifting noisily to disguise a horribly uncomfortable whimper when he felt yet another a sharp pang hit his stomach.

"Aw, there ain't no fun in that! C'mon, it's gotta be pink or blue!"

"Does it really have to be that way? What about something bright like yellow or green?"

"I guess, I mean if that's what ya want." Dylan scrawled the colours down. He'd buy some samplers in a couple of days before the furniture arrived at the apartment so he could make a definite decision. "I'll pick up some toys and clothes too. That teddy bear ya made won't last long in tha lil' mite's hands."

They were both startled by a knocking on the door and the sing-song voice of a certain Frenchman calling out, "Bonjour ~ is everyone decent?"

"Would it stop ya from coming in if we weren't?" Dylan sighed, quickly slipping the catalogue and paper well out of sight beneath the bed. Francis chuckled audibly and let himself in, taking the Welshman's comment as an invite.

"Ooh _Angleterre_, you are looking so much better ~" He crooned as he closed the door behind him and made his way over to the bedside whilst balancing a couple of plates on his arm. Francis had been made aware of Alfred and Iain's deal over dinner. He couldn't say he approved of their behaviour but for now he refrained from taking matters into his own hands.

Francis' attention remained solely over the heavily pregnant Englishman, whom he intended to worry over for the next few days… and perhaps the next twenty years plus.

"What're ya doing up here?" Dylan asked. Francis scooted closer to Arthur, his smile warm and gentle. Carefully he set the plates down on the bed. Immediately the unimpressed look from Dylan's face lifted as he eyed something rather tasty-looking sitting before him.

"Why? I came up to check on Arthur's wellbeing. I brought dessert." Each brother received a fork and a plate containing a slice of a brown chocolate tart. Dylan speared a piece on his fork and sniffed.

"What is it?" He asked. Honestly he couldn't of cared less – anything that smelt as good as this demanded to be eaten without question!

"_Tarte a la ganache et au thé_. Or, French chocolate ganache tart with Earl Grey tea." As soon as Dylan took a big bite of the sweet, Francis was confident that he could talk to Arthur without being sent away.

On the other hand, Arthur only prodded at his share of the tart whilst wearing a mild expression.  
"I made it especially for you, Arthur. Do you remember the first time you 'ad it? I made it for your birthday once, the last one that we celebrated together before we broke- up."

"Don't bring things up like that again." Arthur warned quietly, finally deciding to try some, albeit not being hungry. "Inconsiderate." He said once he finished the mouthful. There was no point in denying that he'd liked it; Francis knew damn well he'd enjoyed the sweet treat. But Arthur just didn't feel in the mood to eat. Not after what had happened tonight.

"I know nothing will ever really change between us, Angleterre. We've fought each other enough to know that much, that we hate each other."

"…But you don't hate me, do you?" Francis sighed. He leaned into the Englishman, ignoring Dylan's presence for the time being, and wrapped his arms around Arthur's body. The younger blonde stiffened at first. Then slowly he warmed to the bearded Frenchman's touch, his own arms curling up between as he shyly pressed himself closer.

By the time Dylan finished both of their desserts, Arthur seemed at ease and hadn't complained. The elder brother was reluctant at first to leave. Arthur seemed relaxed though, and with verbal reassurance he decided it was okay for him to go downstairs and leave them to it. He gave Francis a stern talking to though, warning him watch his step before he left, not that the normally placid Welshman was nearly as big a threat as Iain.

Francis removed his sweater, folding it up and neatly set it aside. For once he wasn't confident to whether or not Arthur wanted to be with him, short or long-term. He didn't even know if Arthur and Alfred were officially separated, or if they were just having a lover's tiff that would soon resolve.

He knew that if Arthur's relationship continued with Alfred they would experience many inconveniences. For example, with such a distance between their homes it'd be difficult for Alfred to visit regularly. The child would rarely see him, unless of course Alfred took them with him to attend the world conferences every month.

Incidentally, Francis would not have such a problem. The man roughly calculated in his mind how long it'd take if took the Eurostar, and, when he compared to 2 -3 hour long journey to the flights Alfred would need to take to get to London, he judged himself as being the more convenient option for the sake of emergency.

Over the next 45 minutes Francis lovingly cradled Arthur in his arms, stroking back his bangs and murmuring softly in French. Arthur was still very warm from the onset of the mild fever, a thin sheen of sweat covering his forehead and the nape of his neck.

No sooner had Francis disappeared from Arthur's side to fetch a cool flannel from the bathroom, he heard his name.

"Mm… Fran…cis…?" Arthur croaked, wavering his head to and fro as emerald eyes dulled by fatigue searched for his missing comfort. Francis quickly hurried back, a well-wrung flannel in-hand. "I'm 'ere, mon lapin. I was just going to get a wet cloth for your head." Arthur relaxed when he felt Francis wriggle back beneath the covers. Then he cuddled up to Francis, burying a flushed cheek against his shirt.

"You're being awfully sweet. Are you trying to get something out of me?" Arthur shook his head slowly as he allowed Francis to drape the cool flannel over his brow.  
No. It was just nice to have someone meaningful be there for you, even if it was just for an evening-long cuddle. Alfred hadn't done much of that lately. Sure Francis could be downright lewd from time to time, but at least the man could get things the basics right without needing to be prompted.

Francis gently pressed Arthur back flat on his back, skilled fingers beginning to work back his slicked fringe as droplets of cool water from the flannel mixed in with the sweat.

"Nnngggh…" Arthur rolled to the side, head pushing back and sinking deep into the plump white pillows. Tired emerald eyes seemed to give up, tightly squeezing shut for a count of five seconds. Then, at his own leisure pale eyelashes fluttered as the hazy greens re-opened.

"Arthur, are you alright?" Francis slid in behind Arthur and helped him to sit up a little, allowing the younger blonde to slump against him for support. Arthur rolled back his head, a hand lightly pressed against his swollen stomach.

"I-I think it's the baby." He whimpered, groaning softly when Francis brushed a cool hand against his cheek while the other gave the hand on his belly gentle squeeze.

"Is it coming?"

Arthur shook his head again, relaxing somewhat into the touch. "I don't think so. Ngh… it's been happening on/off since this afternoon."

"I suppose 'aving that brother of yours announcing something that was bound to upset you didn't 'elp either."

"I don't want to go into labour early." Arthur admitted quietly, fidgeting to try and get himself comfortable, something which he realised wasn't easy when he had a tiny person pressing against his bladder. Slowly, awkwardly he pulled away from Francis, sliding off the bed to waddle into the bathroom before he managed to wet himself. Francis followed him to the door, being courteous enough to stand outside should he be needed, though he was quickly shooed away.

Once Arthur had relieved himself and had scrubbed his hands clean, he toddled back into the bedroom looking as rotten as he had before.

"Even if you do go into labour within the next few days, you'll still 'ave technically carried the baby full-term. It might be a few ounces under but it should be fully formed nonetheless."

"I know. I'm just…" Francis heard Arthur's voice fade as he switched on the lamp, pulled out a duffel bag and began to sort through his drawers, pulling out several pairs of his homemade knitted baby clothes and carefully setting them inside the bag.

"What are you doing, lapin?" Francis asked, perching himself on the edge of the bed to observe the Englishman.

"I-I haven't prepared my hospital bag yet. What if the baby does come? I-I need to get everything ready… a-and I don't even have a cot sorted yet, I need have everything ready! What if there's an emergency? W-what it… what if…" Francis quickly gathered Arthur into his arms and coaxed him into his lap, ignoring the cry of protest that followed.

"F-Francis! Let go of me at once!"

"Non. I want you to rest. Then in the morning when you are feeling more refreshed, I will 'elp you to sort out some necessities for the 'ospital." Unsurprisingly Arthur tired quickly, and while he was perched on the lap of the other man, he caught Francis' face in the corner of his eye. Francis hugged him.

"I don't want to make an enemy of you, _mon cher_, nor is it in my best interest to give you an even 'arder time than what you're already 'aving. But I am not leaving until you promise to take it easy. You're not well, cher." Francis was only trying to help, and Arthur knew it.

Thinking about it and what was to come with his new arrival, the Briton settled back into the other's strong arms where he allowed himself to be held a bit longer where he continued to sniffle.

Francis embraced Arthur's weight fully, rocking him gently in his arms like you would a baby. All of the excitement of the day had finally built up and taken its toll on Arthur, leaving him feeling both physically and emotionally drained. All he wanted to do now was sleep. _Mon Dieu, 'ow 'is moods change..._

"Mmf… back hurts and shoulders hurt. And 'm hungry." Arthur pulled his face out from where it was comfortably nestled to gaze up at the empty dessert plates on the dresser. He inwardly cursed Dylan for eating both tarts, even though he knew it was his own fault for letting him.

Following his gaze to the dishes Francis sighed. "You should've eaten your dinner. Italy made some lovely pasta… and you barely touched it. If you're refusing to eat nothing then there's no wonder as to why you keep getting sick, nor can it be good for the baby."

"I don't not eat."

"Sweets and desserts do not count. At the rate you've been snacking down, I'm surprised you've been dropping weight rather than lose it."

Arthur frowned and tried to hide his face as his cheeks tinted pink with a blush. When he put it that way it made the Briton feel rather greedy. "I-it's all your fault!"

Francis found this rather amusing. "Oh?" he purred, "Why is it my fault?"

This time Arthur didn't reply, for his mind was too muddled to think of a good, snappy come back that would leave Francis in a daze. His mind was still being dominated by feelings of hunger and misery, both of which were needs that just had to be sated before he could be happy.

"Oh, what's wrong now? Angleterre, if you're this fussy now I dread to think what you're going to be like when you're recovering from the birth with a little one. If you're joints are really bothering you then I'll be 'appy to give you a massage." Francis grazed Arthur's head with his whiskery chin as he nuzzled him, a finger picking at and stroking back clumps of straw-coloured hair. As Arthur shifted on his lap, Francis could feel his bulky belly press tighter against his own flatter stomach.

Smiling, Francis cupped his hand along the younger's flushed cheek, and turned the Briton's head so that their eyes locked. "_Je t'aime tellement_." He murmured gently, using the other hand to lovingly part Arthur's straw-blonde locks whilst he placed a single kiss upon one eyebrows. "_S'il te plait ne me quitte pas une fois de plus. Je te veux pour moi tout seul_."

Arthur shivered at the gentle caresses, his eyes drifting closed to escape the embarrassing gaze of the Frenchman's warm blue pools that held within them an underlying hint of lust. He was still trying to comprehend what was happening exactly when he received another kiss, this time on the lips and no quite as chaste. Arthur's eyes shot open.

"F-Francis?!"

Francis chuckled deviously, lifting the red Briton into his arms and plopping him gently down on the bed. He found the flannel and patted it lightly back in place over Arthur's brow.

"I want you to sit 'ere and rest. I will be back shortly with some edibles and a fresh drink." Francis told him rather firmly as he gathered up the dessert dishes. "Do you 'ave any requests?"

Arthur regarded him thoughtfully. "Tea would be nice. A-and something to eat."

Francis smirked to himself when he saw Arthur turn his head away, though he was still unsure as to whether it was embarrassment or the fever that made his cheeks glow so red. "We'll see. Now rest. I won't be long."

* * *

Just as his young master had requested, Francis brought a cup of fresh hot tea and a slice of the chocolate-tea tart. Was it too much caffeine? Francis hoped this much wasn't going to hurt the pregnant Arthur, after all it was a one-off thing.

Using his hip to shimmy open the bedroom door upon arrival, Francis stepped inside. A still lump beneath the bed covers indicated that Arthur had gone to sleep without him, not that Francis could blame him. He was a little disappointed that the Briton couldn't be awake to taste and criticise his latest attempt at making Earl Grey – and he was so sure he'd done it exactly how Arthur liked it this time. Why, he even remembered to add milk this time!

Francis set the drink and snack aside on the bedside cabinet and joined Arthur, lifting the sheets over himself and turning him so that they faced each other, his arms wrapped around the younger.

Burying his lips into the other blonde's unruly hair, Francis sighed softly and kissed the top of his head. His fringe was a little bit damp though he couldn't seem to see the flannel anywhere.

Where he lay, Francis looked over Arthur's head and out the window. It was still raining. The consistent pitter-patter of water droplets hitting the window was wonderfully soothing. As he closed his eyes to visualise he could practically feel the cool wet drops land on his skin with each beat he heard.

Arthur squirmed beneath him, mumbling in a croaky voice. Francis pulled back a little to examine his face only to discover the terrible look of discomfort on Arthur's face. His eyes were screwed tightly shut as though in pain and his large eyebrows were drawn together in a 'v.' Swollen pink lips were parted ever so slightly as more incoherent words tumbled from his lips between pants of breath.

"Arthur?" Francis pressed the back of his hand firmly against the younger's damp forehead. Almost on cue green eyes fluttered open.

What had caused his temperature to spike so suddenly? Had his little infection returned? Unlikely, as he'd been prescribed some antibiotics during his last hospital visit when the symptoms first appeared.

Man flu? It was flu season after all and Arthur hadn't had any shots against it. Or perhaps it was something totally inhuman altogether and Arthur was suffering from something to do with the economy. One could only speculate.

Judging on how Arthur kept groaning and rolling from side-to-side in a restless manner, Francis came to the conclusion that Arthur was also experiencing pain of some sort. The tears still fell fast and heavy for just a while longer, cascading down his cheeks like the freshly fallen rain on the glass panel of the bedroom window. Arthur's heavy belly proved to be quite an inconvenience for them at this moment as Francis chose to hold the half-delirious Arthur until morning. No matter how hard Francis tried, the Island nation just couldn't seem to settle. And things were made all the worse when Arthur would call out to him in a tizzy when the Frenchman couldn't even get up to use the bathroom on his own.

By midnight they were paid a visit by Alfred and Dylan. One needn't say that that was when ice-packs and surgery numbers were pulled out. Thompson was called out for an emergency late night visit (not that Alfred was willing to give him a choice) and until his arrival over an hour after being summoned, he turned up at the doorstep with his kit and stethoscope.

* * *

**A/N -** ...I felt like doing something FrUK-y. I like FrUK =D

FrUK! Dun dun dun!

**  
Anyways, I remembered to do translations this time =D**

**Je t'aime tellement** - I love you so much

**S'il te plait ne me quitte pas une fois de plus** - Please do not leave me again

**Je te veux pour moi tout seul** - I want you all to myself

As far as I know these are the correct terms. There might be a mistake here and there though ^^

Next chapter should be in a few days. It was actually once part of this chapter but I decided to write it out as its own one. As such it should be much shorter.

Take a guess who's coming to visit ^J^


	30. Visitor

**Chapter 29: Visitor**

**Date:**** 5nd November (November part 3)**

* * *

"C'mon, West, it'll only be for a little while! By the time Christmas is over we'll have packed up_ und_ moved out!""

"_Nein_."

"What's so bad about it? Don't be such a tight-ass. Don't tell me you don't want to spend some time with the kids, because that is bullshit!"

Arthur struggled to maintain a straight-thinking state of consciousness. Vaguely familiar voices of friends and family swam in and out of the dark haze of his mind, occasionally rousing him from the deep fever-induced slumber he was semi-permanently lost in.

As Arthur was gradually made more aware, he realised that he was lying on the living room couch with his head on a pillow on somebody's lap with a blanket draped over his shoulders.

Matthew was fading in and out of Gilbert and Ludwig's conversation, occasionally gratifying Gilbert up with a simple 'Mm-hm' or 'Yep'. He wasn't happy with Gilbert acting so childishly, though he knew better than to try and changed the frustrated man's mind. Gilbert was, after all, trying to do what was best for his family by finding suitable, safe accommodation for when it was time to relocate.

Finally, Gilbert lost his temper and went marching out of the room, an exasperated Ludwig in tow. Matthew let out a soft sigh of relief. Everything would calm down soon, he told himself.

"Mm…atthew?"

As Arthur made it known that he was awake, cool fingers gently brushed back strands of damp fringe from his warm face.

"Oh Arthur, you're wake." Green eyes fogged with fatigue looked unseeingly up at the young nation, blinking slowly as he began to readjust to his environment. Moving his head get a good look around, something shiny on Matthew's hand caught in the corner of the Briton's eye. Arthur tried to twist his head to see what it was, only for his limbs to give out beneath him. He slumped down into the Canuck's lap with a weak huff, burying the side of his face into the pillow.

Matthew shifted in his seat, replacing the damp flannel on Arthur's forehead which had slid off during his rummage. He called something out, something which Arthur didn't really catch and began to stroke the knackered nation's head. Dylan and Francis came scuttling into the living room, both with their leaves rolled up and the latter wearing an apron.

Arthur tried once again to look up as he heard a heavily accented voice speak his name. "Arthur? Oh _mon cher_, you're looking so much better. You've been asleep for so long. You 'ave no idea 'ow relieved we are. "

"Oh. How long have I…?"

"Three days, if ya count today as well. We all took turns waking ya up fer a bite of dinner and ta use tha loo, don't ya remember?"

Arthur slowly shook his head. Those pockets of time spent awake from the past few days had been so brief that he his mind probably hadn't registered them.

The Englishman scrunched his face up into a pitiful scowl. "Oh… wait. Wasn't the conference yesterday? I missed it?"

"Yes and yes – not that you should be worrying. Even if you were up to it, there was no way we were going to let you sit in a stuffy conference room for six hours." Francis smiled, finding his hand and giving it a squeeze.

"Mm. Me and Dylan couldn't go either-" Matthew piped.

"So we sent Scotty and Gilbert instead. See? We're always thinking." Arthur smiled weakly. It was all rather exciting to be the center of attention, so much that the blonde Briton could barely keep his eyes open.

"Where's Al – America?" Arthur asked, lazily retracting his hand.

They'd all picked up on Arthur's use of country names when asking about the American, rather than choosing to use the informal gesture of his human name. It was obvious to them that he was still rather upset with the American. "We sent him ta fetch some groceries fer dinner with tha Italian knucklehead and Scotty," Dylan replied, "He'll be back soon. Don't ya be worryin' 'bout him, kiddo."

Francis slid an arm up behind the drowsy Arthur and steadied him to his feet. "Come _lapin_. Let's get some good food inside of you."

Arthur, who was feeling rather weak of leg right now, instinctively grappled Francis' arm as he allowed himself to be led into the kitchen where he was sat down. Matthew and Dylan followed.

"I 'ope you're not feeling too sore, _cher_," Francis said, setting a plate and a glass of water before the groggy Arthur a short while later. "We 'ad to put you somewhere else whilst we 'ad the bed sheets washed. The couch seemed like the best option. We did think about putting you back to bed once we 'ad the sheets replaced but you just looked so comfortable."

"I'm fine, thank you." Said Arthur quietly as he began to pick disinterestedly at the sandwich he'd been made. Francis noticed and frowned, but said nothing.

Dylan came up behind his brother and playfully ruffled his matted blonde hair. "It's good ta have ya amongst tha world of tha living again, Artie. I was gettin' a mite bit worried. It's been quiet without ya." A disgruntled Arthur batted his brother away much to the elder's amusement. Dylan chuckled and sat down beside him where he decided to do the Frenchman a favour by gently coaxing the younger Briton to eat. And he did, albeit very slowly.

Ludwig and Gilbert entered the room, each carrying one of the young children. As soon as Ludwig propped Benjamin into his highchair the lively young infant eagerly drummed his fists on the table and bobbed in his seat with a giggle, obviously delighted about something.  
Compared to her brother, newborn Colleen wasn't quite so jolly. She was disinterested in feeding so for now Matthew had decided not to even bother trying.

Midway through lunch and after some heavy bargaining, a very weary Germany agreed to let Matthew and the children stay with him in Berlin whilst Gilbert house-hunted in Canada. There was only one condition – Gilbert had to take Feliciano with him. Hours spent arguing over the matter had finally worn poor Ludwig down, and with such a persistent brother it just wasn't worth the fight.

After lunch everyone returned to the living room for a rest. Alfred, Italy and Iain still hadn't come back from their shopping; however a text that Francis received from Iain confirmed that there would be back shortly. In turn, Francis sent the word that Arthur was finally awake, commenting on how much better he looked.

They tried to occupy themselves by watching an old black-and-white movie. Nobody was particularly interested though, with Matthew and Gilbert tending to their children and Arthur fighting the urge to fall back asleep whilst using Francis as a pillow. In the end Dylan switched it over to watch the football match.

Not 5 minutes into the match did they hear a car pull up outside the house.  
"Sounds like they're 'ome." Francis noted, looking up from the week-old newspaper he had begun to read. Ludwig found the silence outside most peculiar; usually by now he could hear the Italian chattering away. Instead there was the lone slam of a car door, followed by silence.

Figuring that the nations would want some help with the door, Dylan jumped up from his seat and hurried out into the foyer.

The door was already unlocked so the Welshman just yanked it open.

Dylan felt his heart leap into his throat. Cold, violet eyes that gleamed locked firmly onto his mountain greens, expelling an immediate fear from the Welshman. Although his arm was now officially free from its sling, it began to ache dully for the first time in nearly two weeks.

"_Привет ~ Как дела_?" Said the tall visitor softly.

Without invite Russia stepped past the Welshman and into the house. He was dressed in a heavy beige trench coat that reached down past his thighs, with a brown-grey suit on underneath. He looked as though he had just come back from a business meeting. Meeting or not, his iconic light tan almost-white scarf remained around his shoulders. In one hand the big Russian man held a paper shopping bag.

Dylan just stood there with his hand still tightly clutching the brass doorknob, speechless. What was he supposed to do?

Gilbert came out from the living room, grinning mischievously. "What the hell took you guys? You _dummkopfs_ missed lunch, y'know. Too bad for you-" Ivan smiled.

Gilbert tensed up to begin with, however that creepy smile was enough to shock his system awake, and with it the pent up anger that he could only attest through words.

"_Du arschgefickter Hurensohn_!" The shorter white-haired Prussian screeched, advancing towards the other before stopping abruptly. Russia's 'smile' quickly vanished, replaced by a look that demonstrated annoyance.

"_Bruder_?" Germany appeared as he heard his brother. He allowed himself to hope that nothing was the matter, and that it was only Iain keenly teasing him rather than anything serious. Of course luck betrayed them as electric blue eyes caught sight of the worst possible person.

"You are not velcome here." Ludwig growled defensively. "Vhat are you even still doing here in the UK? The world conference ended yesterday. Everyone's gone home by now."

"Everyone? What about you, Germany? I hope you do not mind me dropping by. I am here to see my Matvey and my baby. Estonia heard from Finland and kindly told me."

Gilbert pugnaciously stepped up to him like a terrier, fists clenched and determined to stand his ground. "You have no right to see them! That baby and Matthew are mein, not yours!"

"You are mistaken," Ivan replied. "They are mine; I have every right. You may keep that other child, however. I have no use for vermin."

"What the fuck did you just call my kid? If you even look at them I swear to God I will fucking brain you, you goddam shit-eater!"

Ivan didn't heed the threat as he heard the teasy cries of a young child coming from the lounge. Ah, so that's where they were? The Russian smiled brightly and quickly evaded the brothers, closing the space between himself and 'his' precious Matvey with long strides.

Gilbert pounced after him. "Get outta there, vodka-bastard!" he cried desperately, as if he thought that if he threw enough abuse it'd stop him dead in his tracks. Ludwig stalked after him, followed belatedly by Dylan. Gilbert became increasingly frustrated as Ivan continued to ignore his demands, even to the point where he wished he had the likes of Scotland or America to back him up.

Ivan just stood there in the doorway of the living room, one large hand clutching the door frame as he inspected the scene before him.

Arthur huddled closely to Francis, shivering beneath a thin blanket and his face wearing an unreadable expression – fear, maybe? He mumbled incoherently and was looking like he wanted to make a run for it. Before he could act on it though Francis put an arm around the Englishman and pulled him as close as humanely possible without drawing him onto his lap. He knew Ivan and Arthur had never been on particularly good terms and feared that the mere presence of the Russian would be enough to lapse him into a full-blown hormonal-induced panic.

Matthew was sat on the armchair, another blanket draped over him like a poncho whilst Colleen nursed. The Canadian was rather particular when it came to the breast-feeding, and even in the comfort of home he always insisted on having some form of privacy when around someone other than Francis or Gilbert. It was something he'd grow out of as he became more confident, or so Gilbert hoped, because in a way it did bother the Prussian somewhat.

Benjamin regarded Russia from down on the floor. Kumajiro and he had been having a great time, building and rebuilding towers made from the boy's colourful building blocks and now he was interested in the man whose face was vaguely familiar.

Gilbert squeezed in past Ivan and dived for the child, quickly scooping him up and making a dash for the armchair. Benjamin wailed loudly. Gilbert did not know if Russia would actually harm the child he spoken so ill of, but quickly decided that finding out wasn't worth the risk.

Without ceremony Ivan got straight to the point. "I'd like to see my child, Matvey."

"'Your' child? You're at the wrong house, asshole. The only kids here are mein." Gilbert hissed. The Prussian perched himself on the arm of the chair, perhaps reminiscent of a Notre Dame gargoyle to the way he sat, with his infant son propped in his arms.

"I was not asking you. Matvey?" Russia smiled disarmingly at Matthew as he slowly drew nearer.

Germany dared to grab Russia's wrist, preventing him from stepping any closer. Russia blinked and turned to face his opposition. Ludwig was scowling.

"I think you better leave, Russia."

"Eh? But after I went through all the trouble of convincing my boss to let me stay just one more day… It'd be a shame to waste this time." Russia said, disappointed. He lifted the paper bag from by his side. "I even brought presents for baby. I will not be leaving until I see her."

Gilbert gave the bag a wary glance, judging its contents immediately. "She's too young to drink vodka, asshole." He sneered, pulling Benjamin into his chest.

Somehow Ivan managed to convince Matthew to let him hold the child. It hadn't been an easy process but now he sat cross-legged on the floor beside the young nation's feet with his daughter in-arm, babbling words of Russian to her. She just stared back, bewildered.

Matthew timidly watched with Benjamin tucked against his stomach. Gilbert watched Ivan like a hawk until he seized the suspicious gift-bag and ripped it open to get a good look inside. Rather than finding a half bottle of Stolichnaya Gilbert instead found a few knitted woollies and a small teddy bear, amongst other things. In fact, everything in the bag was anything but inappropriate for the newborn, and most of it looked as though it'd been made by hand. Who's hand exactly was anyone's guess.

Nevertheless, an unimpressed Gilbert was unafraid to express his opinion with a snide remark before disgustedly tossing the torn bag of things aside.

"What is she called?" Ivan asked, brushing a finger against the child's palm to test her grasp reflex. He was quickly rewarded by the little one squeezing the index with all her tiny might. A moment later she released and withdrew and Ivan gently used his thumb to stroke her cheek.

"C-Colleen. Her name's Colleen."

"Oh, that's nice. A very cute name, ehe ~" he looked up at Gilbert and smiled. "Who named her? You?"

Matthew managed to intercept before Gilbert could even open his mouth to answer. "N-no, erm, S-Scotland did. Well, actually he suggested the name a little while ago a-and, well, Gilbert and I liked it. So we kept it."

"How nice." Ivan mused. Colleen was quickly beginning to miss her papa and soon she was warily searching the room for Matthew with those big indigo-sapphire eyes of her's, whining. Petting her downy wisps of blonde hair with a giant paw, Ivan keening gently. "_Нет_, little one, _Не на́до боя́ться_. Stay with _папа_."

Colleen's lips parted and she emitted a low, long wail, tiny arms bunched up and bent at the elbow as she unhappily remained.

Matthew looked helplessly back at Colleen, and gradually his worry and disarray for the child turned to words.

"I-Ivan, maybe you should give her back to me now. Sh-she's not used to you… she doesn't know you." Colleen's wails grew louder. Tears began to spill from bright eyes, pouring over and down her chubby pink cheeks. Her own cries seemed to set off poor Benjamin, for he too began to fuss much to Matthew's distress.

"_Da_, but she will get to know me very soon, Matvey. Baby will join Mother Russia shortly ~" Russia wrapped his other arm around the infant, as if he were preparing to jump off and make a hasty retreat with her. Ludwig and Gilbert readied themselves, preparing to block the bigger man's escape route if it did come to that.

Arthur felt himself grow rather concerned by the infant's cries. He let himself lean a little too far back to try and see if there was anything he could do to cheer the cherub up before the hand on his swollen belly was noticed by the big Russian.

"Oh England, you still have not had your baby yet?" Arthur snapped his head fearfully in the other's direction, green eyes widening for just a moment. Dylan slid onto the couch beside him as if to serve as his means of comfort until Francis returned.

"N-no," he said. "I haven't. Not that it's any of your business."

"Eh…? I suppose not," Russia agreed, looking thoughtfully up at the ceiling for a moment as he cradled his child, tenderly stroking her butter-blonde wisps of hair. "But it's nice to know. Everyone is saying that nobody knows who the father is… that is true, da? Is your child to be a fatherless wretch?"

Arthur felt his cheeks heat up. "Whoever told you, it's not true. Vicious lies."

"Then you will tell me who the father is?" Arthur looked to his protruding stomach and reached for a throw cushion to cover it, embarrassed. "No… I will not. That is none of your bloody concern."

"Eh? That's rude." Russia replied. "You know, I really expected you to go into early labour, even before Matvey. They say the scrawnier and weaker the mother –"

"There is no need for those kinds of comments, Russia." Francis broke in rather angrily; clearly disapproving as he felt Arthur withdraw even further into his side, if that was possible.

"Yeah, who tha hell do ya think ya are?"

"I am Russia, _da_?"

Suddenly they heard the spluttering engine of Iain's banged-up old car as it came rattling up the drive. Dylan hopped up from his seat and raced to the front door.

They heard the excitable Italian first, followed by the unmistakable laughter of one American. They heard Iain too, although his words remained inaudible amongst the ruckus of the younger two. Ludwig wanted to go out after Dylan to meet the Italian. Somehow he felt he'd be better off staying where he was, just in case he needed to help wrestle his brother off of the Russian.

The noise outside vanished quite suddenly. They heard hushed voices instead. After a little bit of delay the living room door suddenly opened up and in strolled Alfred and Iain, tailed closely by Dylan. Both were still holding bags of groceries.

"What's going on here then?" Growled the red-head, catching the glare Ivan was giving him and throwing it right back, ten-fold. He briefly turned to Dylan and handed his bags to the younger. His eyes never left Ivan. Alfred dropped beside the couch to try and help reassure Arthur. Much to Francis' surprise, Arthur let him.

Russia tried his buttery smile. "Nothing," came his reply. "I was merely paying Matvey and _Девочка моя_ a visit."

"Oh aye? Well," Iain said, gesticulating towards the infant and Matthew with a nod of his head. "Ye seen 'em, so now ye can fuck off. Understand,_ mate_? Unless ye wanna start something I suggest ye get the fuck outta this house an' toddle off home where ye belong."

Ivan blinked, taking on a look of false innocence. "Ehe. I must apologise – I don't believe I understood a single word that just came from your mouth. But, I must be getting back to my hotel to pack as my boss expects me home tonight and the last plane for Moscow leaves in less than an hour. Pity, I really wish I could have stayed longer ~" Of course, nobody was certain as to whether this little tidbit of information was true or if it had just been said to avoid confrontation. Either way, each nation felt a varying degree of relief.

"I will come to visit again soon, Matvey. I expect to see little one again very shortly ~" Ivan called as Iain practically shoved him through front door without ceremony. The Scot stood by and waited until the Russian got into his car and was halfway down the lane before shutting and locking the door. Then he went around the rest of the residence and began to check all of the doors and windows.

* * *

**A/N -** I know I said this would be posted only a few days after the last chapter... but I lied. Or more like I wasn't satisfied with what I had and ended up rewriting it all.

I also wanted to get the next chapter out to coincide with the birth of the new Prince. Well, bugger XD

As I said, this one is a wee bit shorter than most of the previous chapters. I estimate that there will be two more left, plus perhaps a short epilogue at the end.  
I am determined to get this story 100% finished within the 12 months since I started it! w


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